


Blessed Unrest

by Villanon



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, “Post 3x08”
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 89,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24979615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Villanon/pseuds/Villanon
Summary: Post 3x08. Eve and Villanelle need to disappear, and Eve comes up with the most ridiculously brilliant plan. Should be a humorous read, will have some serious bits too. Probably some fluff, because I just love fluff.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 637
Kudos: 731





	1. Premier

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I don’t normally write such long chapters but this happened. I’ll try and keep up a similar set up with the next ones if I can.
> 
> Title could change, I named it after a Sara Bareilles album because it speaks to me (and 1000 Times is just so Villaneve).

Eve closes the door to their hotel room and takes a moment to just breathe. There's a heaviness in the air and it's almost crushing. Eve isn't sure if it's the weight of expectation or uncertainty, or maybe it's just plain old exhaustion. She does feel tired, bone tired, and yet she's completely wide awake; like she's had ten too many expressos. It must be adrenaline of course, after the whole bridge fiasco, and she suspects booking them both into a Premier Inn less than an hour later hasn't really helped matters. If Eve had a friend that she text about this sort of thing then she'd definitely be sending something along the lines of 'OMG!!' with a lot of emojis. But Eve doesn't have that kind of friend and, on reflection, never really has. Unless you count Bill, but that's just awkward given the current situation. Eve thinks that he would probably have loved this though.

Villanelle has taken the bed closest to the window and she's staring out of it, even though the view is nothing but black. She's unusually quite and still, and has been since she turned around and saw Eve staring back at her. She'd managed two questions since, the first being "Are you sure?" and she'd asked that twice (okay, three times) to be certain that Eve hadn't actually turned around for some completely unrelated reason like leaving her purse behind; and the second was "What the fuck are we going to do now?", and Eve hadn't really had an answer for that one. Hence her rash booking of a Premier Inn.

"Do you want to order room service?" Eve asks, pulling Villanelle from the black landscape. "I can't concoct a plan to disappear off the face of the Earth on an empty stomach."

"Uh, not really." Villanelle pulls a slightly disgusted face, she'd reluctantly agreed to stay here but she was drawing the line at eating their food. 

Eve laughs.

"You're such a snob!"

"Why do you say that like it is a bad thing?"

Eve gives an affectionate roll of her eyes.

“Because you’re a pretty extreme snob if you’re willing to starve to death over it.”

“I will not starve to death, Eve.” Villanelle says matter of factly. “That takes weeks.”

“Less if you don’t drink any water.” Eve points out. “Are you going to drink their water?”

“I prefer champagne.” 

“Of course you do. So I’ll get champagne, one Diet Coke and one cheeseburger.” Eve picks up the room’s telephone, pausing to give Villanelle one last chance before she dials out. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else? Last chance? I’m dialling...”

Villanelle exhales loudly, like she’s being forced into making a very unpleasant decision. Which she is, in her opinion.

“Chips, then. It’s really hard to cook bad chips.”

****

Eve feels better as soon as she starts eating. The cheeseburger is big, greasy and delicious, and it’s just what she needs to counteract her massive adrenaline rush. She slightly regrets her decision on the Diet Coke, wishing she’d gone for the original full sugar version, or maybe even something with a little bit of alcohol in. But it’s fizzy and cold, and it will do.

Villanelle’s mood seems to improve with food too, or perhaps it’s the two and a bit glasses of champagne she’s polished off; it’s hard to be sure. Either way, she sighs contentedly, the Premier Inn suddenly not seeming quite so cheap and awful, and the reality of potentially having an actual future with Eve beginning to sink in. It feels nice, still very much unbelievable, but nice. 

“So.” Eve finishes the last bite of her cheeseburger and seemingly morphs into work mode. “We need a plan.”

“I have money.” Villanelle contributes, the finer points of planning are not really her thing; she definitely prefers to make more spontaneous decisions. “Lots and lots of money.”

“Okay, that’s good. But we need to decide where we’re going, how we’re going to get there, whether we need new identities...”

“Sounds like a lot of hard work, Eve.” Villanelle drawls, leaning back against the pale pink headboard. “We could just stay here. I REALLY doubt anyone is going to look for me here.”

“Right, because they know you’re a snob.” Eve grins, and Villanelle sticks her tongue out before taking another mouthful of champagne. “It’s too close. We need to get out of London, somewhere rural.”

“I don’t like rural. I like busy places, with nice shops and proper restaurants.”

“You were willing to go to Alaska?” Eve points out, feeling slightly exasperated, which is of course to be somewhat expected when dealing with Villanelle. 

“Anchorage has a big shopping mall. I Google'd. It’s five levels.” 

“Villanelle, look, if we want to give ourselves the best chance of escaping we have to go somewhere completely off grid, somewhere The Twelve will never think to look for us.” 

Villanelle can practically hear the cogs turning in Eve’s head now, and she finds herself captivated by the way she chews her lower lip and this little pinch forms in the middle of her forehead. It’s intense, endearing and also pretty hot.

“Did you get this worked up when you were looking for me?” Villanelle asks, her voice light and hmm, she feels a little tipsy all of a sudden, maybe she shouldn’t have drunk that economy champagne quite so fast. 

“Worse.” Eve throws back, following it with a small smile. “I just need to think, sorry.” She pauses for a moment, seeming to mull over Villanelle’s playful and relaxed demeanour. “Doesn’t it worry you at all, that they might find us? That they might kill us?”

Villanelle sighs and looks to the poorly coved ceiling, her hazel eyes big and searching. She isn’t quite sure how to answer, mainly because she isn’t sure what Eve wants to hear (that she’s scared, or that she isn’t?), but also because she’s not sure how much she can open up just yet. After all this is probably the longest stretch of time they’ve spent together, completely uninterrupted, and she doesn’t want to ruin it.

“I’ve been trained not to worry, Eve.” That seems like the simplest answer. “I saw a lot of psychologists who made sure those part of my brain weren’t wired up, so...” she trails off, and downs the rest of her drink. “I’m disconnected.” 

Only she isn’t disconnected, is she? Because it’s way worse than that; she’s been wired up all wrong. 

Eve doesn’t say anything, she’s got that pinched forehead look going on again, and Villanelle wonders if she’s about to get up and run out of here, realising that this has all been one gigantic mistake. 

“Villanelle!” Eve suddenly leaps off her bed, and Villanelle swears she feels her heart drop into her stomach. “You’re a genius!”

“I am?”

“Yes!” Eve looks practically euphoric, like she’s just won the lottery. “I need to make some calls! You wait here, okay? I won’t be long!” And with that Eve backs clumsily out of the room, tripping over Villanelle’s boots in the process.

“Soooo weird.” Villanelle concludes once Eve has pulled the door shut behind her, and promptly pours herself another glass of champagne. 

**** 

Eve is gone for quite a long time, long enough for Villanelle to have a shower and finish off her third(?) or fourth(?) glass of champagne. Regardless, she’s had just enough alcohol to feel comfortably numb, and all the doubts and bad thoughts that have been circulating her brain recently are temporarily silenced. And it’s heaven, for all of five minutes, until Eve comes barging back through the door. 

“Hey.” Eve greets briskly, trying to keep things businesslike until she has a better gauge of Villanelle’s mood. She eyes the almost-finished bottle of champagne on the side, and notes Villanelle’s reclined, towel-clad position on the bed; she looks like a half-sedated tiger, and this, Eve decides, is probably the best scenario she could have hoped for. Except for the towel maybe, because that’s pretty distracting. “Err, so, it’s all sorted. We leave tomorrow morning.”

“Hmm?” Villanelle stretches sleepily, and Eve tries to keep her eyes from wandering back to the damn towel, which she’s pretty sure is getting lower and lower by the second. “Where are we going? What’s the big plan?”

“Um, well, it’s just a few hours from here, but it’s still far enough away to be safe. Carolyn is sending a driver and car. Oh, and she’s going to try and get us some clothes and things. I thought you’d like that part.”

Villanelle sits up, her movements still noticeably sluggish but her expression hard and suspicious.

“Where exactly are we going, Eve?”

“Okay so, it’s sort of like a big hotel.” Eve chooses her words carefully. “An estate really. I think some people might even call it a retreat?”

“Eve.” Villanelle narrows her eyes, and Eve definitely thinks she’s more tiger-tiger than sedate-tiger now, and that’s definitely not a good sign.

“Right, so, you said about therapy?”

“I did not ever mention the word therapy.”

“Psychologist, then.” Eve shrugs. “And it reminded me of this place Niko suggested once. You know, it’s like a little holiday, except there’s therapy...” Eve clears her throat and says the next part in a very small voice. “Couples therapy to be really exact.”

“You’re not serious?”

Villanelle’s eyes are so wide they look like might fall out of her head.

“Oh come on, it’s genius! Even Carolyn thought so! It’s all private and confidential, no one will ever find us!” Eve can feel herself getting carried away now, so taken with the idea that her excitement is almost bubbling over. “And we could probably both use some therapy anyway, right? It’s win-win?”

Now that the grand plan has finally been unveiled Villanelle seems to deflate again, falling back onto her equally deflated pillow with one arm draped over her face. 

“This is crazy, Eve! Couples therapy? We haven’t even spent one night together yet!”

“But we will have by tomorrow!”

“You’ve lost it! And I can’t believe I’m on the one saying that.” Villanelle pouts, looking suddenly tired and defeated. “You know I’ve had too much alcohol to argue with you about this?”

“I was kind of counting on that.” Eve admits, gingerly taking a seat on the foot of her bed. “Plus, it’s also really hard for me to argue with you when you’re only wearing a towel, so.”

Villanelle glances down at herself, seeming to have forgotten her towel situation, and smiles. 

“Well, I guess there’s no point us arguing about it then.” 

“Does that mean you’re saying yes?” Eve asks hopefully.

“I wouldn’t say I’m saying ‘yes’. It’s more of an ‘ugh, whatever'."

Eve grins and shrugs her shoulders.

“That’ll do.”


	2. Wisteria Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at Wisteria Manor... what more can I say without spoiling it? Enjoy!

The morning does not bring kindness to Villanelle. She wakes with a dry mouth and headache, courtesy of her room service choices the night before, and there’s not even time to send for a medicinal coffee before their car arrives a little after 06:00am.

Eve on the other hand is caught somewhere between over-excited and extremely serious, and keeps switching between the two, which is just utterly mind-boggling for Villanelle in her current state. She tries in vain to keep up with the pace of Eve’s conversation, to follow the little spiel she’s coming up with for how they met and why they’re there, but it just makes her head hurt more. She’s also starting to feel a bit sick.

“I think we just keep things pretty normal? Nothing too crazy. We don’t want to raise any suspicion. And we probably need to think about jobs too. You could be an interior designer? That’d be cool, and you did say it was your plan B. I’m not sure what I’ll be. Maybe something in HR?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think we should have a dog, maybe? Regular couples have pets. It creates a nice story arc too. Hey, maybe we rescued it! That says something about us, right? That we’re good people.”

“Sure.”

“What do you want to call it?”

“Huh?”

“Our dog?” Eve asks expectantly, looking at Villanelle for the first time in at least twenty minutes and finally noticing her grey-green hue. “Oh. Are you going to vomit? Should I ask Barry to pull over?”

Barry shifts in the front seat, eyeing Villanelle uneasily through his rear view mirror.

“No. Just stop talking.”

“Oookay.”

Eve manages to keep quiet for all of thirty seconds.

“This isn’t a great start for us as a couple, you turning up to therapy with a hangover because you drank too much on an empty stomach.” Eve points out, earning a glare from Villanelle. “I’m just saying.”

The rest of the journey takes about two hours, Eve is quiet for the most part and Villanelle manages not to vomit, although comes close several times. She suspects the only thing that saves her is her own willpower, because when Barry finally stops the car at their destination, she practically falls out onto the gravel driveway and heaves into a nearby bush.

The bush as it turns out, is in fact a large and very ostentatious topiary horse. And, as Villanelle straightens up and wipes her mouth, she realises she’s being watched by an expressionless woman with a clipboard. And Eve of course, who looks like she might kill her.

“Welcome to Wisteria Manor.” The woman says flatly. “I’m Margaret Twisleton, one of the lead psychologists, and I’ll be getting you settled in today. I see you’ve already discovered our beautiful gardens.”

“I am so sorry about that.” Villanelle speaks in a flawless London accent, and Eve feels herself go a little weak at the knees. “I always get the most terrible travel sickness. Don’t I, darling?”

“Uh. Yes. Yes she does.” Eve stutters, finishing with a weak smile. “I believe you’re expecting us? I’m Kate.”

Margaret looks at her clipboard, pen poised.

“Oh yes.” She says finally. “Kate and Veronica Shaw?”

Villanelle shoots Eve a look, because Veronica?! And also, Shaw?!”

“We’re married?!”

“Yes, yes. I’m sure Margaret has worked that out already.” Eve covers awkwardly.

“Mm.” Margaret hums, clearly unimpressed, as she tucks her clipboard under her arm. “If you want to get your bags and follow me, we have a few things we need to discuss.”

****

Wisteria Manor is huge. It has high ceilings, chandeliers, and just about every other decorative feature Eve can think of to make her feel immediately small, out of place and poorly dressed in her drab, parka coat. Even the beautiful oak floor seems to be glinting mockingly at her as she walks, and she sort of misses the scuffed up carpets and peeling wallpaper in the Premier Inn.

Villanelle, of course, is in her element; gliding about the place, ooh-ing and aah-ing over the soft furnishings and enormous oil paintings. Margaret, to her credit, makes some effort to humour her by extending the odd comment about the origins or artists of certain key pieces. And Villanelle laps it up, oozing charm and fully investing herself into the role of Veronica Shaw, interior designer. Eve rolls her eyes, because it's kind of annoying how Villanelle can just effortlessly do that when Eve has enough trouble just being herself half the time.

"Please, take a seat." Margaret waves them through to her office, and it instantly reminds Eve of the principal's office at her school. Not that she went there often of course, because she was a model student, but it has that chunky, mahogany furniture look and an atmosphere of utter seriousness. Much like Margaret herself, really. "Okay, so although you're here as a couple we do open two separate files." Margaret pulls out two, pre-prepared Manila folders with their fake names on.

"I know you've probably guessed this already, but I'm an interior designer." Villanelle pipes up, looking pleased with herself. "You can put that in my file if you like."

"Mm, yes. We will get to all that in good time." Margaret mumbles, her eyebrow arching in slight irritation. "Why don't we start with why you're here? What are you hoping to get out of all this?"

Villanelle glances at Eve.

"You should take this one, Kate. Seeing as it was your absolutely genius idea to come here."

"Ah, so it was you, Kate, who suggested couples therapy?" Margaret follows up with genuine interest, and Eve sinks a little lower in her chair.

"Uh, well. Yes. I suppose. Um. I just thought it would be good. For us." Eve gestures vaguely between herself and Villanelle. "We just needed to run away, really. And focus on us for a bit."

"Run away? That's an interesting choice of words, Kate."

"Well, I just meant figuratively speaking."

"I see." Margaret purses her lips. "So, you're hoping to...?"

"Reconnect?" Eve tries out, with a slight wince. Margaret nods, seemingly satisfied enough for now.

"Okay. Well, we can certainly help you do that. There's just a few rules we need to discuss, and then I can show you to your room."

"Oh, lovely." Eve mumbles.

"What rules?" Villanelle asks gruffly.

"Let's see." Margaret pulls out a piece of paper. "We have general rules about honesty, privacy and consideration for other couples. And then there's a few more specific ones, so for example we ask that you don't leave the grounds at any time during your stay with us."

"Not a problem." Eve nods confidently.

"No visitors, no phones, no outside contact."

"Perfect."

“There's obviously no drinking, no smoking or drugs permitted."

"Ooooh no, terrible things." Villanelle weighs in, earning a warning nudge from Eve.

"And we do ask that you refrain from having any sexual relations until we've made a full assessment of your relationship."

"Pfft."

"Is that a problem for you, Veronica?" Margaret asks, and of course she's utterly serious because she's Margaret.

"No. No problem for me." Villanelle replies innocently. "We've actually only spent the one night together, so."

"Oh God." Eve groans.

"I thought you'd been married for some time?" Margaret queries, glancing down at her paperwork in confusion.

"Yes, yes, we have, Margaret. But, it's a bit of an issue. You know."

"It's not an issue!” Eve interjects defensively.

"Hmm." Margaret murmurs, scribbling something down. "We’ll definitely need to revisit that at your first session. Thank you for your honesty, Veronica."

"Oh, you're very welcome."

*****

Somehow Villanelle manages to sweet talk Margaret into giving them one of the best rooms. It has a balcony overlooking the gardens, a free-standing, roll top bath in the en-suite and a huge four poster bed, which Villanelle promptly collapses onto.

Eve watches stony-faced as Villanelle lets out the occasional, pathetic moan, her eyes closed and bottom lip jutting out.

“I’M SOOO HUNGRY!” She finally yells, and waits all of ten seconds for a response. “Eve? Did you hear me?”

“I think the whole retreat heard you.” Eve mutters, sitting down heavily on the pink chaise lounge at the foot of the bed. She still holds her parka jacket in her lap, like some weird kind of security blanket. “Why are you such a dick?”

“Excuse me?” Villanelle sits up now, looking offended.

“Why did you have to tell Margaret we’d only spent one night together? Now she thinks we have an intimacy problem, or something.”

“I was just being honest, Eve. Isn’t that the point of therapy?”

“Not when you’re fabricating a marriage!” Eve says through gritted teeth. “Do you want her to figure out that we’re lying and throw us out of here?”

“Oh, calm down. She won’t figure us out.” Villanelle waves a dismissive hand. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a very convincing actress. And besides, Kate and Veronica are so fucked up it just has to be true. You know? We’re a therapists dream.”

“You better hope so.” Eve sighs, and Villanelle’s stomach rumbles.

“Eve. I might actually die I’m so hungry.”

“You’re not going to die.” Eve feels about in her coat pocket. “Here, I have a Werther’s Original.”

“Oooh, wow.” Villanelle says sarcastically. “That’ll fill me right up. And what are you, seventy years old?”

“Do you want it or not?”

Villanelle pulls a face.

“Not really? But yes. Because I’m STARVING.”

“Here.” Eve throws the sweet with a little more force than she knows is necessary, still feeling a bit irked about the whole Veronica performance, and accidentally hits Villanelle square in the eye. “Shit!”

Eve clamps a horrified hand over her mouth as Villanelle clutches at the right side of her face.

“Oh my God, Eve? What the hell?”

“I’m sorry!” Eve exclaims, standing up. “Let me look.”

“No!” Villanelle shouts back, palm still firmly pressed to her eye as she leans back on the bed, trying to get as far away from Eve as possible. Which, given her position, isn’t very far.

“Stop being a baby!” Eve takes hold of wrist, attempting to move her hand out the way.

“I’m not! You just catapulted a mini rock at my eye!”

“Don’t exaggerate!”

“It hurts!”

A weird sort of scuffle ensues where Villanelle swipes at the air one-handedly, trying to rather pathetically shoo her away, whilst Eve attempts to pin her down, still tugging at her arm.

“Will you just stop?!” Eve is way past exasperated now, her breathing heavy and dark curls spilling from her ponytail. “You’re being ridiculous!”

Villanelle suddenly stills, taking in Eve’s dishevelled appearance with her one good eye. There’s a beat where neither of them say anything, and Eve can feel her cheeks starting to flush. This is probably the closest they’ve been since the tea dance and Eve feels a familiar tingle spread through her body.

“Let me look.” She repeats, more softly now, and Villanelle finally drops her hand but keeps her eye tightly shut. “Can you open it?”

“It stings.” Villanelle is pouting again, like a small child whose just grazed their knee, and Eve feels like she could almost forget she’s a cut-throat assassin in moments like this.

Rather tentatively, Villanelle opens the affected eye and a few, irritated tears spill from it, rolling down her cheek. Eve wipes them away gently with her thumb, peering a little closer, so close she can feel Villanelle’s breath on her skin.

“It looks fine.” She determines, with a small sigh of relief. “Just a little red and watery.”

Villanelle reaches up, tucking Eve’s wild hair behind her ear. And that one little action feels so intimate, so insanely intimate.

“Sorry. Again.” Eve mumbles, searching for something to say, to try and break through the intensity of it all.

Eve really, really wants to kiss her.

“Forgiven.”

And it’s still intense. Unbearably so. Eve wets her lips, her eyes drifting to Villanelle’s, which are just mere inches away. It’s like the bus all over again, except she’s on top this time and she doesn’t have the ulterior motive of wanting to distract her enough to head-butt her.

This is it. She’s going to kiss her again, but properly this time.

“Uh-uh.” Villanelle shakes her head at the last second, putting a finger to Eve’s lips. “No sexual relations, remember?”

“Are you kidding!?”

“Eve, I’m taking our counselling very seriously.”

“God! You’re an asshole!”

“Take it up with Margaret.”


	3. Afternoon Tea & Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have lunch and therapy - what more could anyone want!?

Lunch is served in the main hall at mid-day, and of course it's every bit as lavish as Eve anticipates. Afternoon tea stands are dotted about the dining tables, and there's dainty, china tableware with matching tea cups. And it's clear it's only real tea that's on offer because there's even a little tea strainer, which Villanelle spends a good ten minutes trying to work out the purpose of before Eve finally gives in and puts her out of her misery.

Eve doesn't actually like tea. She likes strong, black coffee, in a mug, preferably with a cute picture on it or a funny slogan. But she drinks the tea, because she has to do something whilst watching Villanelle work her way through seven sandwiches, three mini Victoria sponges and two lemon tarts. And Eve isn't about to stop her, because when Villanelle eats she's happy, quiet and still, and Eve has come to learn that those three things very seldom happen, especially all at the same time. It's actually so pleasant on all accounts that Eve slides Villanelle a few more lemon tarts in the hopes of prolonging it, until...

"Hi! Are these seats taken?" An excessively bubbly blonde asks as she pulls out a chair, without even waiting for an answer. "I'm Jane, and this is my husband Roger."

Roger does not look bubbly. Roger looks like his spirit has been flattened by a bulldozer, and Eve would wager that Jane was driving it.

"Uh..." Eve manages. "Sure."

Villanelle merely shrugs.

"Great! So, how are you guys getting on? Have you seen her?"

"Seen who?" Eve realises this conversation is going to rest largely on her shoulders because Villanelle is still focussed on her food, although she looks markedly less happy than a few seconds ago.

"Margaret Twisleton!"

"Oh. Yeah."

"Isn't she amazing! We came last year, and the year before, but we just had to come back again for a little top-up. Didn't we, Roger?" Roger opens his mouth to reply, but Jane abruptly cuts him off. "Have you been before?"

"No, this is our first time." Eve takes a small sip of her floral tea and tries not to grimace.

"Oh! You're going to love it! You know she's world renowned? Her techniques are so revolutionary." Jane leans in a little closer. "Roger and I have communication issues, with a little bit of sexual repression on the side. Do you know what you've got yet?"

Eve wonders if they’ve now entered into some weird game of couples therapy bingo.

"No, no, we just got here today so..."

"Just wait until she unearths everything that's wrong with your relationship! It's just like she says, you really have to break it right down into tiny, unrecognisable pieces before you can build it back up." Jane pauses, looking suddenly serious. "Have you read her book?"

"She has a book?"

"Oh yes, you have to read it. Have to, have to, have to! If you ask her, she'll even sign it for you. But she does charge a small fee of course."

"Of course..." Eve stares at Villanelle, hard. "Veronica, hadn't we better?"

Villanelle grabs a sandwich from what should be Jane's afternoon tea stand, and rises from her chair.

"See you at dinner!" Jane beams, as Eve and Villanelle beat a hasty retreat.

"Oh my God!?" Eve whispers, even though they're well out of earshot.

"I know." Villanelle sighs back, looking wistful. "I think we should get a copy of Margaret's book."

"What?!" Eve asks, utterly flabbergasted. "Why the hell would you want a copy of that?"

"I want to get Margaret to sign it." Villanelle explains, and Eve seriously starts to wonder if she's entered some kind of parallel universe. "And then I want to find Jane, and beat her to death with it."

There's a brief pause as Eve allows Villanelle's words to wash over her.

"Oh! Thank God for that!" She exclaims, her head falling back in overwhelming relief. "I thought you'd gone all weird for a second there."

****

Margaret calls them in for a session a few hours later. Eve wonders if that’s standard practice or whether Villanelle just piqued her interest earlier that morning, or maybe she can just see that they’re both in desperate need of therapy. Eve certainly feels in need of therapy anyway, especially after the Werther’s Original incident.

Even sitting here, in Margaret’s utterly serious office, she keeps coming back to what happened on the bed, to the almost-kiss and Villanelle’s rejection. It stings. And Eve can’t believe for one second that Villanelle was simply following Margaret’s rules, because when did Villanelle ever follow anyone’s rules? And now she’s really thinking about it, why, after all these months of missed opportunities, didn’t Villanelle just jump on her the second they were alone together in the Premier Inn last night?

Eve sighs, a large, involuntary sigh as a familiar feeling of self-doubt creeps into her chest.

“Are you okay, Kate? You seem a bit distracted.” Margaret’s middle-age, middle-class voice filters into her consciousness, and she realises that they’re both staring at her.

“Uh, yes. I’m fine.” Eve answers, motioning for Margaret to continue. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Okay, now we have everyone’s attention...let’s start at the beginning. How did the two of you meet?”

“Work.” “Paris.”

They answer simultaneously, and Eve gives Villanelle that look that says don’t you ever listen to anything I say? 

“Work, in Paris.” Eve amends with what she hopes is a convincing smile.

“I speak fluent French.” Villanelle adds. “And eight, nearly nine, other languages. You can write that down if you like, for my file.”

“She’s not writing your résumé.” Eve mutters, because of course Villanelle would want it to be all about her. 

“That’s certainly impressive. How did you come to learn so many?” Margaret asks.

“Yeah, how did you learn so many, _Veronica_?” Eve puts extra emphasis on her name, in an attempt to remind her that she needs to at least try to stay in character and stop showing off.

Villanelle pauses, presumably to toy with how much background narrative she’s going to build for the now linguistically talented Veronica Shaw.

“Well, I travelled a lot growing up, and I guess I just have a natural ear for it. Some might even say I have a gift...”

Eve rolls her eyes, because of course Veronica is blessed with a gifted mind now on top of everything else.

“I see.” Margaret nods, still making notes. “So, just to be clear, you and Kate met in Paris through work. And what it is that you do, Kate?”

“I, err...”

HR, her brain says, just say HR; because it’s a normal, boring job and it won’t lead to any further questions. But Eve is so bored of boring, and it isn’t fair that Veronica gets to be a well-travelled, fantastically intelligent, fashion designer, just like it isn’t fair that Villanelle gets to be an assassin and Eve’s the boring one who does all the unseen admin work that goes into chasing after her. 

“I’m...a...surgeon.”

“Oh!” Margaret looks clearly surprised. “I have to say I didn’t expect that, I saw you in more of an administrative type role.” Margaret mumbles, scribbling away on her paper, whilst Eve silently seethes. “But, anyway, so your paths crossed in Paris?”

“Yes, we met-“

“In the hospital.” Villanelle jumps in, and then takes a shaky, dramatic breath. “I’d been stabbed.”

Of course, just when Eve thought things couldn’t get any worse...

“Stabbed?”

“Yes, stabbed. Right here.” Villanelle points to the exact spot on her abdomen. “It was very painful, and very surprising.”

“I’m sure. Did you know your attacker?”

“Oh yes.” Villanelle smiles, glancing at Eve now and taking great delight in her horrified expression. “Her name was Eve.”

“Eve.” Margaret repeats, writing it down. “Were you romantically involved?”

“Is that really relevant?” Eve intersects, her voice laced with annoyance that she can’t quite bring herself to hide. 

“You tell me.” Margaret responds with a slight raise of her eyebrows. “Veronica?”

Villanelle sighs heavily, as though it’s all very trying and traumatic for her to recall. Which Eve concedes it probably would be for a regular person like Veronica Shaw.

“Well, Margaret, I thought we might be heading towards something romantic at the time...I was just about to kiss her actually. But then she stabbed me, completely out of the blue. Weird, right?”

“It’s not weird and out of the blue when you know the whole story.” Eve chips in, her arms folding defensively. “You’d messed up her whole life. She was angry.”

“You seem to have a lot of empathy for Eve, Kate. Tell me about that?”

“I, I just, I think...” Eve frowns, kicking the toe of her shoe against the ornate leg of Margaret’s desk, not really sure where to go with this. “I suppose I can just imagine how she must have felt.”

“Because Veronica’s made you feel like that?”

"Yes, she..." Eve huffs to herself, annoyed that she's having to give away actual parts of herself to keep this pretence going. "I was married before we met."

"You left your husband for her?"

Eve startles slightly, the words hitting a nerve she didn't even know existed. And she finds herself wondering, did she leave Niko for Villanelle? Wasn't it more of a mutual happening of two completely separate events? Except she does think about Villanelle all the time. Like literally, all. the. time.

"Yeah, did you leave him for me?" Villanelle asks, tilting her head to the side with keen interest. Eve thinks if she wasn't in front of a therapist she might punch her.

"I didn't leave him." Eve works backwards, unpicking it like a bit of bad cross-stitch. "It was actually him who told me to 'piss off forever', but...I'd already gone, really. In my head. If that makes any sense?"

"It makes perfect sense. Thank you, Kate." Margaret smiles, like actually smiles, which Eve didn't think was possible. "Now, I need to ask you both, given that Veronica and Eve were in a violent relationship, has there ever been any violence between the two of you?"

Oh shit.

"Well, Margaret," Villanelle answers immediately. "It's funny you should ask..."

****

Villanelle watches in stoic silence as Eve stomps up and down their room. It's admirable really, that she's even trying to stomp in such a small space, and Villanelle can hardly hide the smile that keeps twitching across her lips...but she does, because Eve is absolutely furious with her. So furious in fact that she didn't even come downstairs for dinner. 

"You!" Eve shouts, pointing at her. "You are absolutely unbelievable!"

Villanelle makes a great show of considering this.

"Is that a compliment, or?"

"No! No, it's not a compliment!" Eve resumes her stomping, although it's actually more of a heavy footed pacing by this point. "Why did you have to tell her about the Werther's Original? And me calling you a dick? Now she thinks I'm some kind of abusive asshole!"

"Ooooh, so that's what you're so angry about?" Villanelle asks, a little surprised. "I thought you'd be more angry about the whole stabbing thing."

"I am! I'm very angry about both things, actually." Eve draws a deep breath, fixing Villanelle with a look of despair. "Why couldn't you just keep things normal?"

"It all seems pretty normal to me." Villanelle shrugs, and Eve collapses onto the chaise lounge with her head in her hands.

"I thought you were good at lying?"

"I am!"

"Well, you've been pretty crap so far! Maybe you just don't have a very good imagination."

"I have an exceptional imagination, Eve!" Villanelle folds and then unfolds her arms, exasperated. "Look, we're trying to lie to a psychologist, right? I think she might notice if we don't put at least a little bit of truth into our story. It is sort of her job."

"Hm." Eve grunts bad-temperedly, clearly not about to admit that Villanelle's explanation makes any kind of sense. "Well I'm still angry, so I think you better sleep on here tonight." Eve jabs at the chaise lounge with her finger.

"You're not serious?"

"Oh, but I am."

"Come on, Eve! I already ate dinner on my own with Jane and Roger! Isn't that punishment enough?"

"You did?" Eve looks momentarily concerned. "Are they...okay?"

"I didn't kill them if that's what you mean. Although it was very tempting, because there were these cute little oyster knives..."

Eve groans.

"I'm going to bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhhh I really struggled with this one. SO. MUCH. DIALOGUE. But I think it was needed. I've started the next chapter and it's flowing nicely, so I'm glad I powered through. I can't lie, I very nearly stopped though :X
> 
> Onwards and upwards!!


	4. Olaf & Matisse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more therapy...although of a different kind...and Eve and Villanelle get homework.

Villanelle opens her suitcase for the first time, looking through it for something to sleep in. She’s surprised to find that Carolyn has actually done a pretty good job in catering for her unique style because there’s lots of brightly coloured designer pieces, and there’s even a ridiculously over the top suit with gigantic shoulder pads. Amazing.

Villanelle glances at Eve, who’s tucked up in bed, caught somewhere between sulking and sleep, and she wonders if Carolyn has filled her case with miserable colours like grey. She suspects it probably has a lot of turtlenecks in it too.

It turns out that Carolyn hasn’t done such a good job with the sleepwear, although Villanelle suspects that may have been intentional as she holds up a pair of hideous Disney pyjamas with Olaf on the front, because who in their right mind would buy these? Especially when shopping for a devastatingly fashionable assassin like herself.

Villanelle glances at Eve once more, who’s still facing away and doesn’t look to be moving any time soon, before pulling off the black shirt she’s been wearing for far, far too long. It snags on the wiry stitches in her left arm, and she lets out an involuntary hiss.

“Shit.” She runs her fingers over the sore, puckered skin. It’s still angry, almost resolutely so, like it’s telling her it’s too soon to just forget about what happened, about how she botched up that job and then cried about it on the bathroom floor like a big baby. Because she does cry, she does.

She sighs and looks longingly into the bathroom, at the big roll top bath with its shiny, silver claw feet. She really wants a bath, but she also really doesn’t want to wake up Eve and make her angry all over again. 

Tricky.

Villanelle decides to risk the bath. She spends over an hour in there, dousing herself in the various complimentary products that have been provided, and washing the Premier Inn out of her hair. It feels good, and she feels a little more like herself when she’s finished. Even though she’s not quite sure who that self is anymore. 

Once clean, dry and dressed in the downright awful Olaf pyjamas, Villanelle tiptoes back into the main room and sets up her makeshift bed on the chaise lounge. And it’s ridiculous, of course it is. Her long legs hang off the end, and she only semi-fits if she curls up in a foetal position on her side.

She doesn’t fall asleep for hours, and when she does she has the dream about Russia.

****

“Villanelle.” Eve must have said her name at least half a dozen times now, and there’s still no response from the sleeping ex-assassin. “Villanelle!” She debates hitting her with a pillow, but then thinks about what Margaret would say and changes her mind, opting instead to just be a whole lot louder. “VILLANELLE!”

That does it.

Villanelle wakes with such a start that she rolls straight off the chaise lounge and onto the hardwood floor with an almighty thump.

“Owww, Eve!” Villanelle cries out, wrapping her hands protectively around her head. “You are supposed to wake people up nicely! What’s wrong with you?”

“I tried! Nice didn’t work.” She pauses, looking suddenly unsure. “Are you okay? You looked like you were having a bad dream.”

“I’m fine.” Villanelle says abruptly, as she stands up and stretches out her aching limbs. “Just a bit sore from sleeping on that thing all night.”

Eve takes her in fully now, her dark eyes roaming over the soft, waves of her freshly washed hair, down to the gleeful snowman character that’s blazoned across her full chest. Eve smirks as she reads the accompanying tag line.

“I like warm hugs?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re not a morning person are you.” Eve makes it a statement rather than a question. “I thought it was just because of your hangover yesterday...it’s quite cute.”

Villanelle gasps in horror.

“I am not cute, Eve! I’m very badass.”

“In your Disney pyjamas?”

Villanelle looks down at herself huffily.

“Yeah, well Carolyn obviously thinks she’s a comedian so.”

“It is pretty funny...” Eve trails off, only now noticing the badly sutured cut on Villanelle’s arm, which pokes out from under her short sleeved t-shirt. “Hey, what happened? You never said you were hurt?”

“I’m not. It’s old.”

“It looks red...” Eve reaches out to touch it but Villanelle pulls away.

“Leave it, Eve. I said it’s fine.”

Villanelle clearly isn’t in the mood to be fussed over, and Eve knows better than to push it. 

“O-kay. Well, breakfast is in ten minutes and then we have art therapy so-“

“Art therapy? You’re shitting me?”

“I wish I was.”

****

Art therapy is taken by a lady called Bernadette, who is without a doubt on the creative, if not slightly eccentric, end of the spectrum. Her clothes are floral, she has a pencil stuck in the nest of her grey hair, and Eve can’t help but notice that her shoes don’t quite match. It’s impossible to say whether this is intentional or not, as Eve wouldn’t put either scenario past Bernadette, who seems both haphazard and free spirited in equal measure.

“To quote Matisse, creativity takes courage.” Bernadette flutters about the room like a trapped butterfly as she speaks, her hands waving in a flourish. “Today you’re going to be creating something that represents your journey as a couple. You can use any medium you like, paint, clay, oil pastels...”

Eve zones out, her attention drifting over to Villanelle, who looks to be moments away from being bored to the point of actual death. She also keeps yawning and making absolutely no effort to conceal them. Eve rolls her eyes and whispers to her:

“Can you at least try to look interested?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so tired if you’d let me sleep in an actual bed last night.” Villanelle whispers back, before dissolving into another, somewhat defiant yawn.

“Oooh!” An all too familiar voice cuts in from the table behind them. “Were you in the doghouse all night then, Veronica?”

And of course it’s bloody Jane, who apparently has ears like a bat, capable of hearing ultrasonic sound.

Villanelle turns slightly towards her and gives a solemn nod, pout included.

“You should never go to bed on an argument.” Jane whispers back insightfully. “That’s in chapter one of Margaret’s book, FYI.“

“Thanks. We’ll remember that for next time.” Eve forces a smile, before leaning closer to Villanelle and mumbling. “FYI, I’m really starting to warm to your idea of death by book.”

Eve ends up drawing a bridge with a bus on it. It’s not a particularly good bridge, nor is it a particularly good bus, but it fits the brief and Eve feels a sense of accomplishment when she’s finished.

Villanelle on the other hand scribbles across her canvas in black oil pastels. Her movements start off frantic, but gradually slow, and the next time Eve looks up she has her head on the desk, sound asleep.

Eve clucks her tongue and sighs, debating for a moment whether to wake her. She supposes there isn’t much point, seeing as Villanelle isn’t exactly engaging with the class, as evidenced by her production of what is essentially an unfinished black squiggle. And anyway, Eve quite likes having the opportunity to watch her sleep without darkness and shadows to obscure her view. Now, in broad daylight, she can see everything, from the slight flutter of her eyelashes to the relaxed pucker of her lips, and-

“You two are so cute!” Jane squeaks, completely ruining whatever kind of moment Eve was in the midst of having. “Roger, look! I hope you look at me like that when I’m asleep?”

Eve shoots Roger a sympathetic glance, because she’s not even known Jane for twenty-four hours and yet the thought of her being unconscious in any way, shape or form is already absolutely glorious.

“Okay, everyone!” Bernadette claps her hands to draw their attention, and Villanelle sits up so fast that she almost falls off her stool. “We’re going to go around the room and talk about your pieces. Don’t hold back, sharing is caring!”

“Oh wow. She really just said that didn’t she.” Eve says a teeny bit louder than she probably should have, and Bernadette’s eyes are suddenly upon her.

“You two.” Bernadette moves a rapid finger between Eve and Villanelle. “Are you not enjoying my class?”

“Um...”

“So far you’ve done nothing but talk, yawn and sleep your way through it.”

Yeah, this isn’t going well, Eve concludes. Not well at all, and she bets it’ll get back to Margaret. Fuck.

“Um, technically I didn’t sleep. Or yawn.” Eve offers weakly, and Bernadette, if possible, looks even more annoyed.

“What’s your name?”

Shit.

“...Kate...”

“Kate, are you here on your own or as part of a couple?”

Villanelle shifts next to her, biting her lower lip, and Eve doesn’t even need to look at her to know she’s thoroughly enjoying every minute of this.

“I’m, err, with her, I guess...”

“So you’re a couple. And when you’re a couple, Kate, there’s something called shared responsibility.”

The room, which is filled with at least seven other couples, murmurs agreeably around them.

Brainwashed traitors, Eve thinks.

“I mean, I don’t see how I can be responsible for whether she’s awake or not...” Fuck it, Eve decides, Kate would stand up for herself, wouldn’t she? She’s a surgeon after all!

“I see. So you don’t think it was your responsibility to wake her up then?”

“Umm...no? Not really...”

“You see, Kate, due to your actions your partner-”

“Veronica.” Villanelle adds helpfully.

“Right, Veronica here, has missed out on almost half the class.”

Eve shakes her head, unable to stop herself from laughing.

“Please. She hasn’t even drawn anything!” Eve gestures to Villanelle’s picture. “Look, it’s just a black mess.”

“Art is art, Kate.” Bernadette replies seriously. “And you should really try to be more supportive of Veronica’s efforts going forward, hmm?”

“Yeah, I worked really hard on it.” Villanelle says with award winning conviction.

“Perhaps you could start us off then, Veronica. What were you trying to communicate?“

“Well...” Villanelle picks her piece of paper up, turning it this way and that way like it’s a goddamn masterpiece, and not just a thoughtless, jet black scribble. “The black parts are our past, and the white bits-”

“You mean the bits you didn’t colour in because you fell asleep.” Eve interjects.

“Yes. Well, those bits are our future.” Villanelle looks towards Bernadette with big, imploring eyes. “I left them white you see...to signal hope.”

“Oh Veronica!” Bernadette beams, clasping her hands in sheer delight. “How wonderful!”

****

“How are you so good at this?”

“Hmm?” Villanelle hums, barely glancing up from the magazine she stole from downstairs after lunch.

Eve sighs.

“Well, everyone here likes you.”

“I’m a very likeable person.”

“Are you saying I’m not?”

Villanelle stifles a small groan, because she can see where this is heading and there’s no way she can take another night on the chaise lounge.

“You’re very likeable, Eve. It’s just...well, have you thought that maybe Kate isn’t?”

“What?”

“She’s just a bit...” Villanelle trails off, giving her shoulders a small shrug. “Defensive. She needs to loosen up a bit. I mean it’s probably because of her job, I imagine it’s very stressful being a surgeon.”

Eve gapes at Villanelle from her side of the bed, and Villanelle takes the opportunity to resume reading her magazine.

“Kate is not defensive! She’s strong and, and opinionated and-“

“Okay, okay, don’t get all _defensive_ about it.” Villanelle smirks, turning a page. “Just, try and make it seem like she wants to actually be here, you know.”

“Of course Kate wants to be here! She’s the one who signed them up, remember?! Kate’s 110% committed to this!”

“Alright, if you say so...”

“I do!”

They sit in silence for a moment, the uncomfortable kind where Villanelle can practically hear Eve’s brain ticking.

Tick, tick, tick.

“What’s our homework then?” Villanelle asks finally, keen to change the subject because, again, she definitely wants to sleep in this bed tonight.

“Uh, I haven’t looked yet.” Eve mumbles, reaching over to her bedside table to grab the pearl white envelope Bernadette gave them after class. She tears it open, sighing heavily as she reads the embossed card that’s inside. “Oh God.”

“What now?”

“It’s questions. We have to play twenty questions, and we have to give ‘honest’ answers. The word ‘honest’ is in underlined and in bold.”

“Oookay.” Villanelle shrugs again. “Sounds simple enough.”

Eve turns the card over.

“There’s more.” She says, dismayed.

“Go on...”

“You can read it.” Eve chucks the card onto Villanelle’s lap, her expression suddenly unreadable.

“Fine. Let’s see...bring you closer together...blah, blah...importance of intimacy...oh! Ooooh!” Villanelle can’t subdue her grin. “It says that we can now hold hands! And apparently we have to do it at least three times between now and our next session with Margaret. Woooow. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Yeah. It’s great.” Eve responds flatly.

“Don’t you want to hold my hand, Eve?”

“Piss off.”

“I thought you’d be pleased! I seem to remember you wanting to kiss me yesterday...”

“God, I need wine for this! So much wine.”

“Okay, so, last night when I had my meal for one, I got talking to one of the waitresses, I think she felt sorry for me...”

“This had better be leading somewhere other than sex.”

“Eve!” Villanelle puts a hand to her chest, feigning hurt. “Of course! I am a married woman. So anyway, she says that there is a pub, five minutes from here, easily within walking distance.”

Eve frowns and wrings her hands together.

“But, Margaret says we can’t leave or drink...”

“Forget about Margaret! She’ll never find out if we don’t tell her.”

“Okay, and how do you propose we get out of here? I’m pretty sure they keep this placed locked up overnight.”

“Eve.” Villanelle sweeps her hand round to the double, sliding doors on the far wall of their bedroom. “We have a balcony.”

“Um, yes, three floors up?”

“Three floors is no problem.”

“For you maybe!”

“Look, do you want wine or not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was longer than anticipated but I feel it all has to be read as a whole. Hope you enjoyed it!


	5. Breaking Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle and Eve are off to the pub with their homework. Sounds sensible to me.

Eve takes her time getting ready. Mainly because she thinks sneaking off to the pub via a three storey high balcony is an absolutely insane idea, but also because Carolyn didn’t exactly leave her with many outfit choices. Her case is full of turtlenecks and a few of those weird two in one shirt-jumpers, which she knows from previous experience will just get her all the wrong kind of attention from Villanelle. Not that she wants Villanelle’s attention of course, but an evening sans ridicule would be nice. Yes, that’s what she tells herself as she pulls out a soft white camisole, which is possibly meant for sleep, and pairs it with a long, grey cardigan and fitted black trousers. 

Villanelle is still in the bathroom, faffing with her hair and making the most of what little makeup they have between them. She’s wearing a bright red jumpsuit, which Eve has already told her is probably a bit over the top for a quiet, country pub, but she’d immediately shot her down with a dismissive shush.

“Hey, Eve!” Villanelle breezes out of the bathroom, looking every bit like she belongs on a runway, her hair swept back into a sophisticated, low bun. Eve catches sight of her own dark curls in the mirror, they’re wild and unruly and couldn’t be less sophisticated if she tried. Which she hadn’t. At all. “I think we should do a question before we go.”

Villanelle pulls their homework card from her deep jumpsuit pocket and waves it about.

“Oh, go on then.” Eve sighs, pulling her hair back and then letting it drop again with a hopeless grimace.

“It’s perfect, leave it.” Villanelle assures softly, and then quickly ducks her head, re-focusing very intently on the card. “Okay...what do you like best about my body?”

“Villanelle!”

“What!? It’s on here!”

“Give me that.” Eve takes the card and scans down it, and sure enough the question is there but it’s right at the bottom. “Let’s start with question one, hmm?”

“Fine. Be boring.”

“What’s your favourite book or book genre?”

“Sooooooo BORING!”

“I’ll answer first then.” Eve mutters, ignoring Villanelle as she dramatically face-plants onto the bed. “So, I used to like crime novels, but since my life turned into one big crime scene after another they’ve sort of lost their shine.” Villanelle makes a loud snoring sound. “Stop being an ass! I thought Veronica was taking this seriously?”

“Veronica’s got the night off.” Villanelle mumbles back, her voice slightly obscured by the fact her face is pressed into the duvet. “Alright fine.” Villanelle lifts her head, looking momentarily serious. “My favourite book...”

“Yes...” Eve encourages with a slow nod.

“Is the Victoria Secret catalogue. Great lingerie, hot women, and you get a new one delivered to your door every couple of months.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Come on, I am a little bit.”

“You’re this much funny.” Eve makes a tiny gap between her thumb and index finger, and then widens it. “And this much asshole.”

“I bet you change your mind after a few drinks.”

“I bet I don’t.”

****

Villanelle peers over the balcony, her mouth pulling slightly to one side as reality sinks in. It's a relatively easy maneuver for her, she's an assassin with a background in gymnastics after all, but then there's Eve...

"We can't do it, can we." Eve says flatly, not sounding especially surprised. 

Villanelle frowns.

"Of course we can do it, Eve."

"But?"

"But, I can't guarantee you won't break something."

"Oh my God? That's it! I'm not doing it!"

"I'm joking! God! So sensitive." Villanelle rolls her eyes. "Look, it's easy. We just slide down that drainpipe to the balcony below-"

"And hope we don't die?"

"You're just being stupid now. Enough talk." Villanelle swings one leg over the edge. "I will go first, you follow."

Villanelle doesn't wait for an answer, because she knows the more Eve talks about it, the more she'll talk herself outof it. Wine will definitely help with that, she thinks, as she shimmies effortlessly down the drainpipe and lands on the balcony below. She's relieved to find that the occupants' curtains are already drawn.

"Come on." She keeps her voice low, and beckons to Eve with both hands.

"Fuck." Eve whispers, as she eases herself over the balcony wall. Villanelle can see she's shaking, and it gives her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach that she doesn't like very much.

"You can do it, Eve!" She calls out, trying to sound a lot more confident in Eve's abilities than she actually is. 

Unfortunately, the encouraging words seem utterly lost on Eve, who is now dangling from the drainpipe, her legs kicking out underneath her as she searches in earnest for solid ground. 

"I'm falling!"

"You're not falling." Villanelle dismisses with her typical air of calm. "You're flailing. Stop flailing."

"I, I can't!"

Villanelle, sensing Eve's rising panic, climbs back up onto the balcony wall and reaches up, steadying Eve's legs and guiding her right foot towards her shoulder. "Stand on my shoulder, I'll help lower you down."

"What? No!? I'll crush you!"

"Eve, you're tiny. You couldn't crush a fly."

"I crushed Dasha!" Eve squeaks out, and Villanelle concedes her point with a breathy chuckle.

"Alright, fine, you're very weighty."

"Excuse me?!"

"Eve!"

"Sorry. Okay, okay, here I come..."

"Finally." Villanelle mutters, her hands sliding up and over Eve's hips as Eve, who is noticeably calmer now, begins to ease herself down, her left foot gradually coming into contact with the flat surface of the balcony wall. 

They both breathe audible sighs of relief as Eve’s right foot lifts from Villanelle’s shoulder to join the left, and her hands unclasp from their tight hold around the drainpipe, coming to rest just above Villanelle’s collarbone. There’s an unnecessary pause, a brief moment where they’re both still and unmoving, save for a gentle breeze that swirls past them and ruffles their clothes and hair. 

Eve moves first, brushing a few loose strands of dark hair from her own forehead and then, without thinking, reaching over to do the same for Villanelle. Her fingers trace their way along her blonde hairline, light and soft...until Villanelle suddenly stiffens, like a horse who’s about to bolt, and takes an abrupt step backwards.

“Sorry-” Eve starts, confused, but Villanelle is quick to silence her.

“No time. We need to hurry.” She hoists herself over the wall before Eve has a chance to react, let alone reply. “So, same again, okay? But with less flail.” And then she disappears from view, totally graceful, like she’s the lead role in some sort of spy movie. 

****

By the time they reach pub Eve’s nerves are so shot that she orders herself a full bottle of house red and two tequila slammers. Villanelle orders her own drink, which is notably of the non-alcoholic variety, and then pays for the whole lot with a wad of cash that she pulls from her pocket. Eve doesn’t know where the cash has come from but she presumes Villanelle already had it on her when they were in London, and if there’s another, less palatable explanation she decides she quite frankly doesn’t want to know, and therefore won’t bother to ask.

They head towards the back of the pub, taking a seat in a relatively private, booth-style table. Eve wastes no time in sliding a shot of tequila over to Villanelle, the tiny glass stopping just short of where she rests her elbow.

“We haven’t gone to all this trouble for you to drink elderflower cordial.” Eve points out, nodding towards the glass and hoping to put an end to this strange post-balcony tension that hangs between them.

“I don’t do shots.”

“You’re Russian?” 

“So? I am not your typical Russian.” Villanelle says by way of explanation, and Eve laughs.

“You’re not a typical anything! Just, have a proper drink? You can’t let me drink alone, it’s...rude.”

Villanelle raises her eyebrows, bemused.

“Is that the best you can do?”

“Villanelle...” 

“Alright, alright! I will drink with you.” Villanelle picks up the shot glass. “But just remember who has to get you back up that drainpipe later.”

Eve grins in response as Villanelle sinks the shot, not bothering with the salt beforehand. She slams her empty glass down, shuddering dramatically, and Eve suppresses a giggle.

“That.is.disgusting.”

“That’s why you’re meant to start with the salt.”

“Oh yeah, I can see how that would help?” Villanelle replies sarcastically. “You have terrible taste in drinks, just like you have terrible taste in clothes.”

”Really? My clothes, again?” Eve rolls her eyes before completing the salt, shot, lemon cycle herself. She grimaces and almost gags. “Yeah. Okay. That was awful.”

“I’ll choose the next ones. Vodka?”

“Now, that’s more Russian of you!” Eve nods approvingly, pouring herself a very large glass of wine. “You go and get the vodka, then we better make a start on our homework.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been so long! Real life got in the way. I had an interview and I had to do a presentation and everything. It was very distracting and zapped all my creative thoughts.
> 
> Sadly I haven’t actually heard back from the interview ... they said they’d call... but nothing. A bit like a bad date, right? Oh well! 
> 
> This part was mega long, as I had originally got another bit to add on, but I’ve separated it now. The bonus being that the next chapter is already nearly written...


	6. Fine Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm.... a summary....
> 
> They drink. A lot. And answer the question card.
> 
> The first part is dialogue heavy but I have some more descriptive bits further down.

“It is not a difficult question, Eve.” Villanelle sighs out as she lines up a series of full shot glasses down the centre of the table. “Just pick anything!”

“It’s hard though!” Eve whines, clearly overwhelmed by choice and quite possibly alcohol, seeing as she’s now half a bottle and several shots in. “I like a lot of music! What about you? What do you like?”

Villanelle doesn’t miss a beat.

“I like national anthems.” 

“Huh.” Eve processes, taking a swig of wine and then tipping her glass towards Villanelle. “I can see that about you.”

“You can?” Villanelle looks surprised. “People usually laugh when I tell them that.”

“Well. Not me.” 

Villanelle nods respectfully.

“Next question then...”

“Wait, wait, we have to do a shot first.” Eve reminds, grabbing a glass from the table and clinking it with Villanelle’s. "To national anthems!"

"To national anthems." Villanelle agrees, sinking her shot in time with Eve. "Okay. Next question." Eve makes a faux drum roll on the table. "What calms you down when you're upset?"

"Ooh, that's a good one! Well, wine, obviously."

"Obviously."

"I like...a bath. It has to be really hot though." Eve punctuates her preferences with a wagging finger. "Lots of bubbles, maybe a candle."

"Scented?"

Eve considers this with a tilt of her head.

"That'd be nice, yeah.” She decides and Villanelle nods appreciatively. “Okay, your turn. And don’t say sex."

"If sex calms you down, you're doing it wrong." 

"Villanelle! Just answer the question."

"Fine." Villanelle purses her lip, blowing out a thoughtful burst of air. "I like having my hair stroked."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"But not when you're on a balcony, apparently." Eve mutters, unable to resist the opportunity to bring it up. Villanelle rolls her eyes.

"That was a gentle brush. Very different."

"Uh-huh."

"Next question is...your first kiss?"

"Well, that's, I mean, I don't really remember..."

"Eve."

"Fine. Fifteen. Behind a bike shed."

"Really? That is so tragic. I’m sorry.” Villanelle makes a sad face, like someone's dog just died. "Boy or girl?"

"Boy."

"Even more tragic..." 

"You?"

"Uh..." Villanelle picks up her next shot glass, needlessly examining it. "I was young, I don't know how old exactly. It was some girl, from the orphanage. She was very hot and a very good kisser, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't. Orphanage?"

"Take a shot, next question." 

Eve obliges, but pulls a face.

“Realistically, I don’t know how many more of these I can do.”

“Don’t wuss out on me now, Eve! This was your idea.”

“I’m pretty sure the vodka was your idea. I came for the wine.” Eve puts an affectionate hand on her wine bottle. “What’s the question?”

“Ummm.” Villanelle squints at the card, the vodka skewing her vision ever so slightly. “What is your favourite memory of us?”

“Are you serious?”

“I know.” Villanelle holds up both hands and looks between them. “When you stabbed me or head-butted me? Tough call.”

“Or when you shot me.”

“A definite contender. Rome is a very romantic City to get shot in.”

Eve takes a large gulp of wine, her expression suddenly serious.

“I liked dancing with you.”

“Really?” Villanelle’s hazel eyes widen. “Eve, I’m a very terrible dancer. Are you sure?”

“Mm-hmm.” Eve nods, sipping her wine more slowly this time. “Actually, it's the fact that you're terrible at it that made it even better. Because I know you did it for me.” Villanelle opens her mouth, about to say something, when Eve points an accusing finger in her face. “Don’t ruin it!”

“I’m not!” Villanelle frowns. “I was just going to say that I liked dancing with you too.” She pauses. “But, it is not my favourite memory...”

“Go on...”

“Well, I liked the bear.”

“The guy at my office?!“

“No! The princess bear! With my voice in.”

“Oh. I don’t think that counts? It’s not really an ‘us’ memory. It’s more of a ‘you broke into my apartment’ memory...”

“It was cute though, wasn’t it.”

“Eh...cute...creepy, it's a fine line...” Eve remarks with a grimace.

“Anyway. My favourite was the bridge.” Villanelle speaks quickly, already picking up the card for their next question. “What do-“

“No, no, no!” Eve pushes the card back down onto the table. “You’re going to have to give me more than that. Why the bridge?”

Villanelle sighs and shifts in her seat, like it’s all becoming too much effort for her. Or maybe it's just too much full-stop.

“I like it when you surprise me.” She eventually shrugs. “Not when you surprise-stab me though, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Got it. No surprise-stabbing. Or any stabbing.” Eve says, although a small frown is already forming as her brain begins to whir. “But I call bullshit, because you weren’t surprised on the bridge, were you? I mean, you knew I’d turn around.”

Eve takes a glug of wine, eyeing Villanelle from behind the sweeping rim of her glass. Her body tenses ever so slightly and she lifts her chin. The movements are subtle, but even after a copious amount of alcohol Eve catches them and files them away.

"I didn't." Villanelle answers plainly, without a hint of emotion. Although Eve thinks there is emotion there somewhere, in her eyes maybe, if she looks hard enough. "Everyone walks away eventually, Eve."

"That's not tru-"

"It is. Moustache walked away, didn't he? Okay, not literally because he's bed-ridden and full of tubes but...if he hadn't ended it, you would have. Right?" Villanelle picks up her next shot, letting it hang loosely between the tips of her fingers for a second before she knocks it back. "It's just the way the world turns."

****

It’s cold when they leave the pub. The sort of bitter, English cold that wraps around your fingers and settles on the tip of your nose. Eve’s glad for the first time that night that she wore her cardigan, and pulls it in a little closer. She wonders if Villanelle is cold in her jumpsuit, or whether she even feels the cold at all. It’s silly she supposes, to think that someone can be impervious to the elements, but she feels like Villanelle just might be. Or at least, that she must have a higher threshold than other, regular humans like herself.

The atmosphere between them feels light, despite the questions in the pub getting a little heavy, and she thinks the alcohol may have helped with that. Plus, Villanelle isn’t one to linger on the serious stuff. Not outwardly, anyway.

But Eve is.

Eve surveys Villanelle’s profile as they walk, her mind still stuck on what she’d said about the bridge. Because if it’s true, and Villanelle really thought she wouldn’t turn around then, well, that’s really...sad. Eve chews on her lower lip, trying to engage her brain to analyse the situation further, but it’s apparently too inebriated. All she can come up with is how sad it all is, that Villanelle thinks every relationship is doomed to failure.

“You never answered the question about my body,” Villanelle reminds, with a slight hiccup, her footsteps faltering and causing her to bump shoulders with Eve.

Eve laughs, even though she has very little to laugh about as she’s just as drunk, if not drunker than Villanelle right now. Villanelle laughs too, bumping Eve’s shoulder for a second time.

“Ohhh.” Eve sighs out, shaking her head. “I don’t think I should answer that question after this much alcohol.”

“Go on. Please. I want to know.”

“Of course you do.” Eve rolls her eyes, because come on, Villanelle’s beautiful and of course she wants to hear how beautiful she is. “I like lots of things about your body.” Eve finds herself slurring begrudgingly, waving her hand from Villanelle’s head down to her toes. “But, the first thing I noticed about you, is that you have nice eyes. Like a cat.”

“Nice eyes? Like a cat?” Villanelle huffs out, and Eve guesses it wasn’t the response she was hoping for. “Wow. Comparing me to a furry animal. Thanks, Eve.”

“Not like that, I mean. Ugh.” Eve throws her head back to the sky and takes a deep breath. “Your eyes, they’re, well, they’re big and beautiful and... hypnotic.”

“...like a cat.”

“Oh shut up. You have great tits too.”

“Oooooh!” Villanelle looks immensely pleased and presses her shoulder to Eve’s again. “Okay, my turn. Obviously I like your hair a lot.“

“I had guessed.”

“I like your face, your body. I like your hands.”

“Villanelle. As flattering as this is, you can’t just list everything.”

“Why not?” Villanelle frowns, hiccuping again. “I like it all, Eve. I can’t pick a favourite.”

“Try.”

Villanelle sighs very dramatically.

“Your lips then. Very full, very pretty.” Villanelle pauses, thoughtfully. “They give you away, too. When you’re mad they get all scrunched up, you suck the bottom one in when you’re worried, and there’s this cute half-smile thing you do sometimes. I don’t know what that means yet. But I think it might be when you’re having dirty thoughts about me.”

“Ha!” Eve smacks Villanelle lightly on the arm. “You wish!”

“I do.” Villanelle muses honestly. 

Eve looks down at her shoes for a moment, still smiling and shaking her head. They’re probably still a good five minutes from Wisteria Manor and the dreaded drainpipe, which is just enough time but not too much, she decides.

“Give me your hand then.” Eve says, stealing a shy glance up at Villanelle. “For the homework.” She clarifies, when she sees the blonde hesitate. Eve has already experienced enough rejection under her own steam for one night, after all. 

“Oh. Oh right.” Villanelle uncurls her hand and offers it out, still looking uncertain. “Sorry, it is cold.” She mutters, as Eve slips her palm into Villanelle’s and laces their fingers together.

It feels new and strange, and nice. Really, really nice, actually. And Villanelle’s hand really is freezing cold. Maybe she isn’t so superhuman after all, Eve thinks to herself with a small smile.

“It’ll soon warm up.” Eve says, holding on a little tighter.

****

Villanelle thinks she might be too drunk. Too drunk to answer anymore questions, too drunk to hold Eve’s hand and definitely too drunk to get them both back up this drainpipe. Eve is also too drunk for the drainpipe, Villanelle realises, because she keeps swaying all over the place even when they’re standing still. Villanelle also knows that Eve is too drunk because she says she likes her tits, and that’s definitely not an admission a remotely sober Eve would make. 

But there’s no other way. Villanelle considers that she could break in, but a place like Wisteria Manor is going to have every alarm system going. Too risky. And again, she’s too drunk.

So, the drainpipe it is.

Villanelle sends Eve up first, because it seems like the best of a bad selection of ideas. She figures she can provide some sort of support, if Eve loses her footing, or maybe she just wants to look at Eve’s arse. It’s hard to know what part of her brain is leading on this plan, if she’s totally honest.

Eve does surprisingly well, until she reaches the second floor, and then her arms and legs get tired. And the flailing starts.

“Don’t-” Before Villanelle can even get a warning out, Eve’s flailing foot clocks her round the face, and then, before Villanelle can react, the other uses her bad arm like a foothold. Villanelle shouts out in pain and swears very loudly in Russian. “Ебать!”

“Oops! Sorry!” Eve calls down from above, her feet still scrambling dangerous close to Villanelle’s face. “Are you okay?”

“Just climb, Eve.” Villanelle mutters, although she’s pretty sure she’s not okay from the pain that’s radiating down her jaw and along her arm, and that’s with a very healthy dose of alcohol in her system.

Villanelle doesn’t quite know how they do it, or maybe she does, because Eve uses her as a stepping stone at least two more times, but they make it back onto their balcony and proceed to fall through the patio doors into a giggling, drunken heap on the floor. The bed or the chaise lounge simply a destination too far.

Eve kicks off her shoes and Villanelle reaches a tired arm out towards their bed, tugging at the overhanging comforter until it gives way. She kicks off her own shoes too, before drawing the downy blanket over the top of them. 

“You’re shivering?” Eve speaks several minutes later, or it could be mere seconds, Villanelle isn’t sure because her eyes are already shut and sleep is creeping in.

“Hmm? Yeah. Still cold.”

She feels Eve shift closer, feels the softness of her hair by her face and the heaviness of her arm across her chest.

“You’re just a regular human.” Eve hums in a quiet, happy voice and Villanelle forces her eyes open to look at her. She looks so peaceful and relaxed, gazing up at her through thick lashes.

“I like you like this.” Villanelle whispers as she snuggles deeper under the blanket, and a little closer to Eve. Because she figures she might as well make the most of it, before sober Eve remerges in the morning.

“Drunk?” Eve asks, with another giggle.

“Relaxed.” Villanelle yawns out despite herself, wishing she wasn’t half as tired or half as drunk as she is, so that she could stay awake and just bask in the fact Eve is this close and this snuggley.

If only they’d made it to the bed, she thinks, then this would have been perfect.

“Carefree?” Eve continues, recalling their conversation in the ballroom.

“Mhmm.”

“Do you still want that?”

The question lands somewhat awkwardly between them, and it feels far too big and far too complicated for right now, and Villanelle really, really just needs to sleep.

“I think we’ve answered enough questions for one night.” Villanelle manages to murmur back, before slipping into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! For those of you who are still following this - thank you :)
> 
> Ебать = Fuck (apparently - thanks Google).
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this update, I had a lot of fun with it. Always quite tricky to go over old ground though, so I hope I did that okay. I have absolutely no idea how old Villanelle was in the orphanage... and should probably have double checked... but it's written now. In my head she was still there as a teenager.
> 
> As for my job interview (aka the bad date scenario) I got a call today. Don't get too excited, as this really is just a continuation of the bad date theme... they said... "We loved you!" the problem being, they also loved the other candidate :(. So I now have to wait while they figure it out. I mean, come on! I think this might be worse than being told I wasn't the right fit to be honest!


	7. Knock, Knock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long to get up! I’ll explain all at the end... if you can make it that far!
> 
> There’s a mix of things going on in this chapter...

“Villanelle, wake up.” Eve groans, swatting at the still sleeping girl’s chest with her hand. “Phone. Ringing. Make it stop.”

Villanelle comes to with a jolt, head pounding, mouth dry and stomach churning. Hello again hangover, she thinks, and wonders for the millionth time in her life why she’s done this to herself. 

“Villanelle!” Eve whines, pulling the blanket over her head. “The phone. Please?”

Phone. 

The shrill ringing makes its way into Villanelle’s conscious, and some sort of survival instinct kicks in, because the next thing she knows she’s on her feet and ripping the handset from the bedside table.

“What?!” She yells, already sinking back onto the floor and holding in her vomit with a guarded hand.

“Hello...Veronica?” 

Oh fuck, it’s Margaret.

“Hi, Margaret.” Villanelle replies, shifting relatively effortlessly into Veronica’s accent, although her voice still sounds tired and gravelly. “Sorry, we weren’t expecting any calls this early.”

There’s a pause, and she hears Margaret suck in a sharp breath.

“Veronica, it’s nearly mid-day and you’ve missed your session. Are you both alright?”

Shit.

“Uh...” Villanelle watches as Eve scrambles from the floor and into the bathroom, wincing when she hears the telltale sound of retching. “No, not really. We’re... sick.”

“Both of you?”

“Yes, it’s a stomach bug. Really terrible.” Villanelle cradles her forehead in her hand. “Perhaps you could be so kind as to send us up some toast and water, and a few paracetamol?”

“Um, well, yes I can arrange that.” Margaret pauses again and Villanelle realises she’s not off the hook yet. “I’m sorry, Veronica, but I do need to ask. Did you hear any disturbances last night? We picked up some unusual activity on the CCTV. Someone tried to mount and ride the topiary horse?”

“Errrrrr...“ Villanelle curls up onto the ground as her hangover sends in a second wave of nausea and cranks up the thudding in her temples. “We were both so out of to be honest, Margaret, I couldn’t tell you.”

“I see. Of course. Well, don’t worry yourselves today, just get plenty of rest.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Oh, and I’m afraid you’ll need to quarantine yourselves for twenty-four hours once your symptoms have stopped. It’s all in the policy and procedure folder in your room.”

“Fantastic.”

Villanelle throws the phone across the room once she hears Margaret hang up on the other end, and then Eve comes crawling out of the bathroom. Literally, crawling, on her hands and knees. 

“Morning.” She greets weakly, face ashen. “I think I turned inside out in there.”

“Don’t.” Villanelle raises a halting hand, and swallows heavily.

“It’s bad isn’t it.” Eve sympathises, crawling over to where Villanelle has taken up the foetal position, and rolling onto her back. “Was she mad?”

“Eh.” Villanelle shrugs. “I told her we have gastroenteritis, so.”

“Ew.” Eve grimaces, not needing to hear anymore. 

They’re still and quiet for a while, and snippets of the night before begin to showreel through Villanelle’s head. She closes her eyes, not trusting herself to look at Eve, who for some reason has chosen to lie right beside again. Weird, she thinks, and then she starts to wonder if Eve has one of those special hangovers where you’re still a bit drunk.

“I’m sorry about your face.” Eve says with a regretful sigh.

“My face?”

“Oh. You haven’t seen it yet.” Eve sucks in her lower lip and Villanelle knows it must be bad. “I kicked yo-“

“I know.” Villanelle cuts in sharply, not wanting to relive the drainpipe or any of last night really, because what was the point.

“You really are so grumpy in the morning, aren’t you?!” Eve chuckles, sounding far too amused for someone who just had their head down a toilet. Villanelle manages to glare at her for a good few seconds, before groaning and closing her eyes again. Everything hurts.

“Your arm looks so sore.” Eve murmurs now, shifting onto her side. “Are you sure it’s not infected?”

Villanelle grunts in response and turns her face into the soft rug by the bed. She thinks she might be able to fall asleep again soon, if Eve stops her incessant chattering. She really is the worst person to be hungover with, Villanelle thinks.

Eve brushes the pad her thumb along the angry red wound, it’s warm and most definitely on the turn, but hopefully nothing some antibiotic cream won’t fix. 

“What are you doing?” Villanelle mumbles, as Eve’s hand slides up her arm and into her hair, and of course it feels good. So, so good.

“You‘re not feeling well.” Eve answers simply. “And you said last night that this is something that makes you feel better, so...”

“Oh.“ Villanelle sighs, forgetting herself for a minute, because it does feel amazing and she’s definitely too defenceless for this. It’s going to hurt, she thinks, when it all comes crashing down again. “Does this mean I have to run you a bubble bath later?”

Eve laughs softly, but doesn’t say anything, and Villanelle starts to feel strange. Well, even stranger than she already does. Eve suddenly seems way too close, which Villanelle didn’t even think was possible until right this second, and it’s making her body go all hot and sweaty, and her heart is beating funny. 

“Eve.” Villanelle opens her eyes and lifts her head, drawing back. “I can’t breathe, this is, it’s too much.” The words tumble out in a rush, and she pushes into a sitting position, drawing deep lungfuls of air.

“Sorry, I thought-”

Eve’s interrupted by a very ill-timed knock at the door. 

“Room service!” A voice shouts. 

****

Eve chews thoughtfully on her triangle of scarcely buttered toast. It’s a sad, dry breakfast but it’s pretty much all she can stomach. She’s not 26 years old anymore, and hangovers tend to span a full day rather than a few hours. 

She glances at the blonde 26 year old who’s slouched beside her, having finally made it onto the bed. She’s also eating toast, but completely dry, and she has a precautionary waste paper bin in her lap. Perhaps being 26 isn’t the answer after all.

Eve longs to say something but draws a blank. Things are back to being weird again. In fact, they’re probably even weirder than they were before. Last night had seemed like progress, they’d shared feelings, held hands and even curled up together under a blanket. That’s all progress, right? So why does this morning feel like the opposite? Eve searches for the right word, but all she can come up with is devolution. 

They have devolved. 

“Nice toast.” Eve finds herself saying, and then cringes at her own stupidity. Nice toast? Really? Villanelle side eyes her with a frown. “I just mean it’s nice bread, not too much crust.”

“It is toast, Eve.” Villanelle responds flatly.

“I know, but I was so hungry. Are you still hungry?”

Small-talk is not hungover Eve’s forte, apparently.

“Is this your way of asking to finish mine?” Villanelle sighs tiredly, shoving her cold, half-eaten triangle towards Eve’s face. “You can have it.”

“Uh, thanks?” Eve accepts the bit of toast and has a reluctant nibble. She was never actually hungry, just an idiot apparently. “So, I’m going to go and see Margaret in a minute, to ask about getting some cream for your arm.”

Villanelle looks down at her arm for a moment, and then back up to Eve’s face. 

“No, you aren’t.”

Eve rolls her eyes, because of course Villanelle is going to be stupid and awkward about it.

“Villanelle, it’s red and warm, and kind of gross looking. That’s not good? Stop being a baby and-”

“I am not being a baby, Eve.” Villanelle says with an extremely frustrated sigh. “I am just saying I can’t let you do that.”

“I get it. You’d rather go septic than let me help you, right?” Eve challenges, because she’s so done with all this, whatever this even is. Villanelle just blinks at her. “I know you have this big hang up about not needing anyone and everyone letting you down, but I care about you, okay? I’m not going to let you get yourself sick because you think every relationship is doomed. And anyway, you’re a really grumpy, pain in the ass when you don’t feel well, so.” Eve finally draws a breath, her brain catching up with her mouth. “I’m just saying, you really should stop being such a dick all the time.”

Villanelle raises her eyebrows. 

“Huh. Are you done with your little speech now?”

Eve folds her arms in a bid to portray that she’s standing by what she’s said. 

“I think so, yes.”

“Good.” Villanelle leans back against her pillows and hugs the waste paper bin a bit tighter. 

“Is that it?”

“You are very impatient when you are hungover, Eve. I am processing.”

“Well, can you process a bit faster?”

Villanelle closes her eyes and takes a calming breath. She looks eerily relaxed, Eve thinks, given what she’s just said to her.

“So, I have no idea what you are talking about, but you can’t go and see Margaret. She says we have to stay in quarantine, because of the whole gastro thing.”

“What?”

“Twenty-four hours from our last symptoms, or something. She says it’s all in some folder somewhere.” Villanelle waves her hand around dismissively.

“But, what if we need to go out? What will we do about food?” Eve stands up, forgetting her hangover for a moment as she begins to pace. “What if there’s a fire?!”

“Eve.” Villanelle fixes her with a look that says ‘really?’. “Calm down. You are making me dizzy.”

“I’m going to call her! I’m going to tell her you need medical attention!”

“You do that. Seeing as you care about me sooo much and all.” Villanelle finishes the sentence with a smug smile and Eve narrows her eyes.

“You know what, I’m going to ask her to do an emergency therapy session over the phone too, because I’m _SO_ over trying to figure you out! You’re impossible! And I can’t take another twenty-four hours of this!”

Villanelle makes some noise that’s caught between a groan and a whine.

“Eve, no therapy today, please? Look at me... I’m cuddling a bin.”

“Tough! You should have thought about that before being an asshole. Now, where’s the phone?”

****

The phone call is a success. Margaret reassures Eve that all meals will be provided by room service, that a Doctor will be sent up shortly to check Villanelle’s — well, Veronica’s — arm, and they agree to hold an emergency counselling session later on that evening. Margaret seems particularly delighted about the request for extra therapy, like she’s finally making some kind of impact on them, and Eve considers that maybe she is, just a little bit. Or maybe it’s just that Eve is at the end of her tether and completely desperate.

The Doctor arrives twenty minutes later, gloved, masked and gowned like he’s entering the source of some potential pandemic. He puts his bag rather reluctantly on the floor and surveys the disheveled room before glancing between Eve, who is standing by the bed awaiting introduction, and Villanelle who is still in bed and cradling her bin like it’s her prized possession. 

“I’m Dr. Wilson.” He says finally. “Margaret says you're worried about a laceration?”

“If that means a deep and disgusting wound, then yes.” Villanelle answers helpfully. “I’m Veronica. That’s Kate.”

“Hi.” Eve smiles and gives an awkward wave.

“Okay, I’ll obviously need to take a history from you, Veronica. Doctor, do you think it’s localised or systemic?”

“Hm?” Eve queries, looking round the room for another Doctor.

“You’re Dr. Shaw, am I right? Margaret says you’re a surgeon.”

Oh. Oh God.

Villanelle starts to snigger, and then attempts to disguise it with a cough.

“Umm, yes. I am.” Eve agrees with a hesitant nod. 

“So, any ideas on the aetiology?”

The what? 

Eve glances towards Villanelle and clears her throat.

“Well, obviously she’s my wife so...”

“It makes it hard to be objective.” Doctor Wilson fills in, seeming to understand whilst Eve really does not.

“Yes. Exactly. But her arm looks...bad... and she’s clearly not one hundred percent so...”

“So you’re thinking it could be systemic?”

“...possibly...?”

“Hmm.” Doctor Wilson considers. “Perhaps the gastroenteritis is just a red herring?”

“Maybe! Who knows...”

“Veronica, how did you sustain the injury?”

Villanelle’s face lights up at the prospect of crafting a new story, and Eve rolls her eyes in anticipation.

“Well, Dr. Wilson, I don’t know if Margaret mentioned to you that I'm an interior designer? So, someone was running with fabric scissors and they tripped over this beautiful, turquoise Havana rug, and obviously I wanted to protect the rug, right? So I threw myself on top of it, and the scissors went straight into my arm! Can you believe it? The rug was fine by the way, not a drop of blood to be seen! I was very careful.”

“I see, that's, well... may I take a look?”

Villanelle nods and Doctor Wilson moves over to her side of the bed, immediately inspecting the wound. He frowns.

“Who stitched this?”

“Oh that was Kate.” Villanelle grins at Eve. “She’s never been very good at stitches. She got pulled up on it _all the time_ in medical school. Didn’t you, Kate?”

Eve scowls in response. 

“There’s definitely erythema and heat. Any pyrexia, Dr. Shaw?”

“I-I don’t think so...?” Eve mumbles uncertainly, because frankly she has no idea what he’s talking about.

“I’ll just double check.” Doctor Wilson grabs a thermometer from his bag and places it gently in Villanelle’s ear. “37.4. Possibly low grade.“ He reaches for her wrist and feels her pulse. “You’re a bit tachycardic too.”

“Ooh, sounds serious!” Villanelle says with wide eyes and obvious excitement. Doctor Wilson laughs softly.

“Don’t worry, you’re going to be fine. I’ll prescribe you some oral antibiotics though, just to be on the safe side. What do you think about analgesia, Dr. Shaw?”

Eve shifts uneasily on the balls of her feet.

“Um, I think it’s...amazing?”

Dr. Wilson frowns but is apparently willing to overlook her weirdness. 

“Right. Well, I’ll add on some pain relief too, then.”

“Oh goody.” Villanelle replies cheerfully, now peering at his bag. “Do you have any stickers in there?”

“Stickers?”

“The ones for the children? I want some.”

****

Villanelle plays with her reel of stickers while they wait for Margaret’s phone call. They’re cartoon animal stickers with phrases like ‘I was brave today’ and ‘My Doctor is pleased with me’ scrawled across them, and Villanelle is absolutely delighted by them.

“I can’t believe you took all his stickers.” Eve says with a disapproving shake of her head.

Villanelle sticks her tongue out.

“I did not take them, he gave them to me because I deserve them. I was very good for the Doctor." Villanelle gives Eve a sideways glance. "You were terrible though, Dr. Shaw.”

Eve groans at the reminder.

“Yeah, thanks for all your help with that by the way!”

"I thought you'd have read up." Villanelle shrugs, peeling off an elephant sticker to add to the growing collection on the front of her shirt. "The Eve that worked for MI6 would have."

"Well I don't work for MI6 anymore, do I? And how exactly can I read up on anything in here?" Eve gestures around them. "Do you see any medical dictionaries lying around? Or a way to access the internet? No."

Villanelle raises both eyebrows and makes a low whistling sound.

"Wowww. You really hate messing up, don't you? I didn't know you were such a perfectionist, Eve."

Villanelle reconsiders this statement in her head, because Eve most definitely is a perfectionist. And Villanelle knows it’s true because she’s seen Eve’s work. The files she prepared for her on Aaron Peel and AA meetings for example were colour bloody coordinated, with a scrupulous index and thorough glossary of terms. Not that she’d read much of them, but she’d at least made an effort to flip through so the pages looked well thumbed.

"I'm not! It was just... embarrassing.”

"If you say so.”

The phone rings, providing a much longed for distraction. Not that Villanelle is particularly looking forward to more therapy time with Margaret, but at least it’s something to do. 

“Hello?” Eve snatches up the phone and puts it on speaker.

“Good evening, Kate. Is Veronica here too?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” Villanelle puts on her chirpy Veronica voice and pulls another sticker off the reel, this time sticking it to the exposed skin on her arm. 

“Excellent, and how are you both feeling now?”

“Much better, thanks.” Eve supplies, shooting Villanelle an annoyed look as she slaps a sticker of a lion onto her forehead. 

"So, Kate, seeing as it was you who asked for an emergency session tonight, where did you want to start?"

Eve sighs loudly and starts to wring her hands together, suddenly seeming uncomfortable.

"Well, I suppose I wanted to go over the homework..." 

"Ah yes. how did you get on with the questions I set?"

Villanelle can practically hear the click of Margaret's pen, which is no doubt waiting to write down all the new ways they've managed to fuck up.

"We did okay, I think." Eve says carefully, her eyes darting to Villanelle. "It was good, I thought, to open up like that."

"Did you learn some new things about each other?" Margaret probes.

"Yes, I think so."

"And how did that make you feel?"

Villanelle rolls her eyes at the cliche question.

"Closer, I thought, but..." Eve trails off and there's a distinctive shift in the room, because Villanelle has a sudden, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that Eve might actually mean what she's saying, and if Eve means what she's saying then that means they're having real therapy right now. "Well, things haven't changed. I think they might be worse, actually. I don't know, Veronica's very... closed off." Eve finishes, her voice small.

Huh, Villanelle thinks, completely nonplussed by this potentially odd turn of events. She wonders whether Eve is just messing with her and trying to get her into hot water with Margaret, maybe as payback for the whole Doctor debaucle.

"Thank you for sharing that, Kate." Margaret acknowledges. "I think it might help if I spoke to Veronica on her own actually. I appreciate that's difficult for you, being as you're in quarantine together. But do you think you could give us a bit of time alone, Kate?"

Eve completely ignores Villanelle's silent pleas, which consists of a lot of rapid head shaking and arm waving, and smiles widely.

"Oh yes, it's no problem, I can go and take a shower." And with that Eve slides eagerly off the bed, giving Villanelle a little wave before disappearing into the bathroom, swinging the door shut behind her.

Villanelle doesn't move, doesn't speak, just sits there, until she hears the shower running and Margaret's voice repeatedly trying to grab her attention.

"Veronica? Are you there? Are you able to talk now?"

Villanelle rubs a tired hand over her face before picking up the phone, because really it's been a day and a half already, and talking to a goddamn therapist when you're still recovering from a hangover and taking fairly strong painkillers is like fighting blindfolded, with your hands tied behind your back, when the other person is packing an AK-47.

"Uh, hang on." Villanelle mutters, taking Margaret off speaker phone and holding the handset to her ear. "Yes, I can talk now."

"Veronica, are you okay?" Margaret asks in a concerned rush. "Dr. Wilson came to me and he's very worried about you. He says you're covered in bruises? And I couldn't help but think about the other day, when you had a swollen eye... Veronica, you need to be honest with me. Has Kate been hurting you?"

Villanelle attempts to reply, but all that comes out is an obnoxiously loud laugh.

"Veronica, this is no laughing matter." Margaret mutters down the receiver. "You've been in an abusive relationship before with Eve, and that means there's a high risk of it happening again."

Villanelle doubles over on the bed, practically wheezing as she struggles to draw enough breath to answer.

"Oh, Margaret!" She eventually splutters out. "Trust me, you're way off! If anything, I'm the one you should be worried about!"

Vilanelle stops laughing abruptly when she realises what she's just said, and the line goes silent for a several, long seconds.

"I see."

"I just mean, I've made a lot of mistakes, and I've hurt a lot of people." Villanelle elaborates quickly but carefully. "But Kate, she's made good choices with her life. She helps people. I mean, she's a surgeon, you know.”

"Indeed." Margaret's voice is back to being flat and unreadable. "So, these people you've hurt, are we talking family, friends, lovers?"

"We're talking everyone." Villanelle replies with a casual shrug, which of course goes unseen. "But not anymore. I mean, I don't want to hurt people anymore."

"Why, what’s changed?"

Villanelle leans back against the headboard, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling, because of course they've ended up here. She knew she was too hungover for this.

"Stuff."

"What stuff?"

"I don't know." 

"When did it change?"

"I don't know."

"Where were you?"

Russia.

Fuck Russia, Villanelle thinks.

"Travelling." She sighs out. "I went to see some family."

"Why?"

Villanelle quirks an eyebrow, growing irritated by the quickfire questions that are clearly designed to drag answers out of her that she doesn't want, or perhaps intend, to give. 

"I had hiccups and I wanted to see what I looked like as a baby." She replies honestly, because why not at this point? "I had a big head if you're wondering, but I was very beautiful. Everyone said so.”

"Who did you see while you were there?”

Fuck, again.

Villanelle swallows past the lump in her throat.

“I told you. Family.”

“Your mother and father? Any siblings?”

“My father died a long time ago.”

“Your mother, then.” Margaret fills in, and Villanelle can practically hear her circling and underlining that little piece of information on her notepad. “How was she?”

“Same as always.”

“Have you spoken since?”

Another lump forms in her throat, a bigger one, one that almost makes her gag. Her eyes start to burn.

“No. She’s dead.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Another pen scribble.

“How were things when you last saw her?”

“Things were...” Villanelle bites her lower lip so hard it hurts. “Explosive.”

“You had a volatile relationship.” Margaret reiterates, not really asking, her pen probably working overdrive now.

“She thought I was evil, or cursed or something. She couldn’t stand to be around me.”

“Did she care for you, growing up?”

“No.” Villanelle answers immediately. “She dumped me.”

“She abandoned you?” Margaret speaks more softly and slowly, the quick fire question round seemingly over now that she has what she wanted out of it.

“Left me in an orphanage, said she’d come back but she didn’t.”

Villanelle frowns to herself, thinking how funny it seems to say these things out loud, things she didn’t think she’d ever tell anyone or really even let herself think of again. Yet here she is, telling a therapist of all people.

“That must have been very painful for you.” Margaret acknowledges, again not questioning. 

“I suppose.”

“Tell me about Kate, then.”

“What about her?”

“Well, she seemed upset before about you being closed off. What do you think about that?”

“I don’t think anything about it.” Villanelle answers simply, because it really is that straightforward as far as she’s concerned. “Kate gives a lot of mixed messages.”

“How so?”

Villanelle hesitates and checks that she can still hear the shower running in the bathroom before she continues.

“She wanted to leave me. Right before we came here, she said she’d had enough and wanted it all to stop.” 

“What did you say when she told you that?”

Villanelle thinks of the bridge, of the dark water rippling below them and the full moon that had hung over them like a watchful spectator. 

“I told her she could go, if that’s what she wanted.” 

“You let her go.” Margaret repeats, sounding thoughtful. “But she chose to stay with you.”

Villanelle screws her face up at that second statement, because it doesn’t sit right with her at all.

“No. Well, yes. But she doesn’t know what she wants, not really. She doesn’t know what she’s choosing. She doesn’t know...” She trails off then, shaking her head, trying to reform her thoughts and say what she wants to say whilst still being in character enough to make it believable for Veronica’s story arc. “Kate knows I’ve made a lot of bad choices, but she doesn’t know everything. She doesn’t know that I’m rotten inside.”

Her voice cracks a bit at the end, and the burning feeling is stinging at her eyes again. She blames her hangover and the drugs, and Margaret for breaking her down when she’s already feeling icky and vulnerable.

“Very few people are rotten inside, Veronica, and I can assure you that you aren’t one of them.”

“You don’t know that.” Villanelle whispers back, wiping a single, stray tear with the back of her hand. 

“When Kate said she wanted to leave, did you want her to go?”

“Of course not.”

There’s a rustle on the other end of the line, as Margaret presumably adjusts her position, her voice sounding even closer when she next speaks.

“Then you aren’t rotten inside, Veronica. You can’t love if you don’t have goodness in you.”

Love. Villanelle lets the word hang in the air for a moment. 

Love. 

_I love you._

_You don’t understand what that is._

“She won’t let me tell her I love her. She says I don’t know what it means.” The words are out before she even has time to think about what she’s saying, and apparently she’s still hung up on what happened in Rome. Who knew.

“Don’t tell her then. Show her.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“When did you last kiss her?”

Villanelle bristles, because they’re supposed to be married, and married people have most definitely kissed more than once.

“She kissed me. A few weeks ago, on a bus.” She skirts around it, hoping that’s enough to satisfy Margaret’s line of enquiry.

“That’s your next piece of homework then, to kiss her.”

“What?” Villanelle leans forward, her hand tightening on the receiver. “Err, I don’t think that’ll go down so well?”

“I know you’re scared of rejection, Veronica.” Margaret empathises, although her voice is firmer now and more decisive. “You’ve suffered trauma at the hands of your mother, and as a result you have attachment issues and relationship anxiety. We can continue to talk through everything, of course, but you need to start taking some positive steps forward with Kate.”

Villanelle opens and closes her mouth several times, utterly stunned by this sudden and unexpected conclusion.

“I attach! I attach to all sorts of things!” She says eventually, her voice childlike and face pouting. 

“I’m sure you do, Veronica, but I’m talking about people.”

Villanelle considers that detaching people is more her style. As in, detaching a head from a body, or wrecking marriages, or destroying families.

“Fine.” She relents. “But I don’t see why I have to kiss Kate to do that.”

“Veronica, you need to open your door a little, hmm? If you don’t let people in they eventually stop knocking.”

Villanelle takes a moment to process Margaret’s slightly off the wall analogy. She thinks of Eve brushing her hair back on the balcony and holding her hand, and trying to kiss her on the bed, and stroking her hair this morning... and... and fuck. Eve’s been knocking.

“God, your good.” Villanelle sighs begrudgingly. “Alright, alright, I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew!!
> 
> Okay, was that alright?? I had the end therapy session in my head but it was quite hard to get down and it went on a bit.
> 
> Also, how old do we think Villanelle is? I went with 25 but I think she’s possibly meant to be younger... 
> 
> For those who have been following my real life dramas, I got a call last Thursday to say ...... I got the job!!!!!!!  
> I can’t believe it.  
> My feet haven’t touched the ground since as I then took my little girl camping. If you knew me in real life this news would shock you (I’m not very outdoorsy, at all), but as Villanelle says love makes you do crazy things :)


	8. Kissing Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think the title probably says it all! 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter so I hope you enjoy reading it :)

As soon as Margaret’s off the phone Villanelle sets to work, because this piece of homework - kissing Eve - is something she knows can do, and she knows she can do it well.  
  


She hurries Eve out of the bathroom so she can take her own shower, to wash away the lingering smell of alcohol and sticky hangover sweat. Ideally she’d like to take her time and soak in the ornate bathtub, to submerge herself in expensive bubble bath and lather herself in lotions, but she has other things to attend to. She has Eve to attend to. And that’s exciting and terrifying all at the same time.

Being terrified is a new feeling. She doesn’t really remember feeling it before, not even when she was left in the orphanage abandoned by her own mother, and not even when Eve stabbed her and she was bleeding out all over her apartment floor. She’d felt pissed off mostly, and inconvenienced, and yes, she knew she might die because of Eve, or be all alone because of her mother, but so what? Neither of those things scared her. No one dies from being lonely and no one gets lonely when they’re dead.

It’s almost physically painful to admit that Margaret’s right. To admit that she’s been keeping Eve at a distance to spare herself anymore hurt, but damn it, everyone she’s ever met has turned out to be one big disappointment, so why should Eve be any different?

Eve is different though, Villanelle concedes, although it doesn’t seem to ease the funny feeling in her chest, not one tiny bit.

She’s so nervous her hands tremble as she dries herself with a towel and slips the god damn Olaf pyjamas on. I mean, the outfit is working against her for sure, but if anyone can be irresistible in Disney pyjamas she can, right? Right.

Villanelle checks herself over in the mirror, draws a hand through her damp, wavy hair and takes a much needed deep breath. 

Eve’s waiting for her when she comes out, dressed in her not-Disney pyjamas and smiling that sweet, warm smile she bestows on her sometimes. Normally that smile makes Villanelle feel calm and at ease, but nope, not right now, it doesn’t even seem to penetrate.

“I’m just going to finish drying my hair.” Eve informs her, still smiling that smile, as she squeezes past Villanelle and heads back into the bathroom.

Villanelle murmurs back an unintelligible response, trying to focus on her next move. She eyes the chaise lounge, wondering whether to drape herself over it and then ask Eve to come and sit with her, but it feels a bit weird and forced, and again she has Olaf pyjamas on so trying to be alluringly draped is probably out.

Eve is blasting her hair with the hairdryer now, her hair falling into effortless curls all around her, and Villanelle finds herself abandoning all planning and just watching. She hopes Eve leaves her hair down, because that’s definitely where her hands are heading once she gets this kiss underway.

The hair dryer cuts out and it takes her a few seconds to realise that Eve is no longer using it, and is in fact now standing in the doorway, looking back at her.

“Are you okay?” Eve asks with a sceptical eyebrow raise. “You zoned out on me.”

This is it, Villanelle thinks, the moment where I sweep her off her feet. And Villanelle considers herself to be excellent at sweeping women off their feet, and tells herself this in a final bid for courage as she strides forward towards Eve.

There can’t be more than four steps between them, maybe five at a push, and the odds of success are high, and it would have been fine, were it not for the blanket still strewn across the floor from their makeshift bed the night before. 

Villanelle trips on the throw, just a little, but it’s enough to derail any chance of sweeping Eve off of her feet, and it becomes more a case of almost knocking her off them. Eve, to her credit, reaches out and tries to steady her, but looses her balance as Villanelle lurches towards her, sending them both crashing into the doorframe. 

“What the hell!?” Eve gasps out, rubbing the back of her head, which hit the doorframe with a noticeably loud thump. 

“Sorry!” Villanelle apologises but decides her best tactic is probably to plough on with her plan, because she’s come this far after all. “Eve...” She places a hand on Eve’s arm, hoping to communicate her intention for some sort of physical intimacy. 

Villanelle closes her eyes in preparation, not realising that Eve is still preoccupied with nursing her sore head and consequently steps out the way at the exact moment that Villanelle leans in.

“What are you doing?!” Eve exclaims, as Villanelle collides with the door frame for a second time. 

Wow, this is mortifying, Villanelle thinks as she draws away from the wooden frame with a pout.

“I was... I wanted to...”

She ends her lack of an answer with a despondent shrug.

“You took too many pain meds, didn’t you?” Eve sighs tiredly, like she fully expected it to happen. “I told you to only take two every six hours. Why can’t you just listen to me for once?”

“I did!” Villanelle insists, widening her eyes. “Just two pills, I swear.”

Eve hums with uncertainty and slowly looks the blonde up and down. Villanelle takes the opportunity to try and look cool and casual by leaning her elbow against the door frame, and placing her hand behind her head. She flashes Eve a wide and (hopefully) charming smile. 

“God.” Eve mutters despairingly. “You’re high as a kite. Go and lie down on the bed before you hurt yourself again.”

It’s not exactly the look or invitation Villanelle is aiming for, but she decides that now isn’t the time to be choosy and so dutifully complies.

“Will you lie down with me?” She asks, as she slides onto the mattress, patting the empty space beside her. “Please?”

Eve regards her suspiciously, which is fair Villanelle supposes given her standoffish behaviour over the last few days.

“Only if you promise to be still and quiet.”

“I promise.”

Villanelle lets out a small, satisfied sigh as Eve climbs into bed beside her. It’s a small victory, but it’s a victory nonetheless. 

“So, what did you talk to Margaret about?” Eve asks, as she picks up the television remote and starts flicking aimlessly through the channels. 

“You, mostly.” Villanelle answers softly and Eve immediately turns to look at her. 

“Me-me? Or Kate?”

“You-you.”

“Oh right.” Eve turns back towards the TV, appearing to feign interest in one of those antique shows. 

“Margaret says I have issues.” Villanelle offers, hoping it might be a bit of an olive branch. 

Eve chuckles and gives a small shake of her head.

“I don’t think we needed to pay a therapist to work that out.”

“True.” Villanelle smiles, fiddling nervously with her hands. “But I mean, with people.”

“Again, that’s not exactly news.” 

“I mean... you-type-people. Specifically.”

“Me-type-people?”

“Yeah.”

Eve clucks her tongue.

“Now you’re just talking in riddles. Be honest, you took more than two pills, didn’t you?”

Villanelle groans and rolls her eyes.

“No, I already told you. I’m fine?”

“Hmm.”

Villanelle huffs and turns her attention towards the TV while she attempts to regroup, because apparently kissing Eve is a lot harder than she anticipated. How could she have predicted that Eve would think she was off her face on opioids, for example? 

God, this really shouldn’t be so hard she thinks, and spares another glance towards Eve who is now rubbing the back of her head again and wincing.

Okay, that’s a definite in, Villanelle decides and tells herself very sternly to not fuck up.

“Is your head okay?”

“Eh, yeah, a bit sore.” Eve replies, dropping her hand back into her lap. “I have a bit of a bump but, it’s fine.”

“Do you want me to kiss it better?”

That’s good, Villanelle commends herself. It’s confident and direct, and who doesn’t love that as a pre-kiss combination?

“What?!” Eve splutters, caught somewhere between surprised and amused. “The bump on the _back_ of my head?”

Hmm, she has a fair point. It’s probably not very romantic, or practical with all her hair.

Villanelle squirms and her hands start fidgeting again.

“Well, no, I was thinking I’d kiss the front. Obviously.”

“Okay...”

“Is that ‘okay’, as in, yes?” Villanelle asks hopefully, turning towards Eve in readiness.

“It’s ‘okay’ as in, you’re so loopy right now I’m going to let it slide if you promise to go straight to sleep. Otherwise you’re sleeping on the chaise lounge again.”

“Eve! Come on!”

Eve wags a finger at her. 

“Sleep. Now.”

“Goddddddd.” Villanelle moans as she slides down the mattress until her head hits the pillow.

****

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BE-

Eve hits the snooze button on her alarm and reluctantly pushes herself into a sitting position, rubbing her tired eyes with the palms of her hands. Groaning, she lets her hands drop into her lap and spares a glance at Villanelle, who is surprisingly still asleep, apparently undisturbed by the alarm's ear-piercing screech.

"Some assassin." She mutters to herself, before giving the blonde a reluctant nudge. "Hey, wake up."

"Uh-uh." Villanelle grunts back, pulling the covers up to her chin. "I’m sleeping."

"Yeah well, so was I." Eve pulls the covers back down, earning a pitiful moan from Villanelle. "Come on, it's time for your antibiotics.”

"It's the middle of the night?" Villanelle murmurs, throwing a heavy arm across her face as Eve turns on the bedside lamp.

"I know, but they're due."

Eve sighs, resigning herself to the fact that she'll have to go and get the tablets from the bathroom, because Villanelle is showing no sign of moving any time soon. In fact is she...

“Are you snoring!? Hey!”

Villanelle startles awake again at the sound of Eve’s voice, and repeats the same pitiful moan as before.

“Eveee, you are soooo annoying!”

“Just sit yourself up, I’ll go and get them.”

Eve leaves the bed with a shiver, the room feels too cool after being tucked up next to Villanelle’s warm, slumbering body. As she pops the tablets from the packet into her palm, and grabs a glass of water from the sink, she starts to question why she’s even bothering. Villanelle clearly doesn’t care about her health, so why should she?

Because she just does. She cares too damn much, truth be told. And Villanelle’s right, it is annoying, so annoying it’s almost suffocating, but she just can’t stop.

“Here.” Eve finds herself at Villanelle’s bedside, holding out both hands, one with the glass of water and the other with the tablets. “Villanelle?”

Villanelle is at least sitting up now, but her eyes remain shut.

“Just leave them...” Villanelle insists in a sleepy and unconvincing drawl, her head lolling to the side. “I’ll take them in a minute.”

Eve huffs out an impatient breath and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. 

“God, look, just open your mouth.” She finds herself saying, and Villanelle groggily does so, allowing Eve to quickly slip the tablets onto her tongue. “Good, now drink.” Eve puts the glass to Villanelle’s lips and watches her take several slow sips, followed by a reassuring swallow.

With her nursing duties complete, Eve sets the glass down on Villanelle’s bedside table and relinquishes a small yawn. It’s getting on for 03:30am and now that everything’s done, and Villanelle is seemingly asleep again, she longs to be back in bed herself.

Only...

She lingers. She permits herself to look at Villanelle again, studying her soft, reposed features as she sleeps still propped against her pillows. So, so beautiful, she thinks.

Eve raises her hand, her fingers grazing the air beside Villanelle’s face, before finally making contact with the soft skin on her lightly bruised cheek. She brushes strands of mussed, blonde hair back from her face, tucking them behind her ear, her thumb tracing its way down her cheekbone.

Villanelle sighs.

“Eve?” 

Shit. Eve freezes, caught red handed.

“Mm?” She barely replies, hoping Villanelle might drift back off if she stays still enough and quiet enough, and then this whole thing will likely be forgotten by morning. But Villanelle reaches up, circling Eve’s wrist to keep her close, and suddenly she lifts herself from the pillows, leans into Eve and...

Kissing - Eve’s brain supplies helpfully. Villanelle is kissing her, and they’re deep, reverent kisses, nothing like their kiss on the bus. Eve can’t help but let out a throaty groan of surprise, and delight and wonder, as she gives into it, deepening the already chasmic kiss, hands roaming up Villanelle’s back as Villanelle’s disappear into her hair. 

Villanelle eases off first, and it feels far too premature because Eve thinks she might want to kiss her forever, or at least until sunrise, if forever is being too unreasonable. Villanelle eyes are smiling sleepily as she draws back, and she shifts over a little towards Eve’s side, making room for her to lie with her.

Eve throws Villanelle a look of uncertainty before she lies down, their bodies nestling side by side, shoulders touching.

“That was due too.” Villanelle whispers, like she hardly dare speak. Eve turns to her slightly, watching the flutter of her lashes and wander of her eyes as they roam everywhere and anywhere in the semi-darkness, settling on anything but her.

She seems so nervous, Eve notes with surprise. 

Well, tonight is just full of surprises, apparently.

“You’re not still high, are you?” Eve finds herself asking, wanting to prepare herself if this is all some kind of spontaneous, opioid-fuelled mistake.

“No!” Villanelle laughs, and shifts a little under the covers. “I was never high, Eve. I was just trying to kiss you.”

Eve snorts.

“That was you trying to kiss me?!”

“Well, it wasn’t my finest work...”

Eve frowns up at the ceiling, her brain starting to throw out all sorts of questions.

“Does this mean...? Are you...? Are we...?” She shakes her head, not knowing where to start, not quite daring to put this glimmer of hope into tangible words just yet. 

“I don’t know, Eve. It’s a lot.”

Ah.

“Right...” Eve twists her mouth, disappointed, her lips still warm and tingly from the fervour of their kiss. 

Villanelle takes a big, shuddering breath.

“But, I do want...” She speaks hesitantly, her accent thick and words still so hushed that Eve has to strain to hear them. “I... I want to try.”

****

_I want to try_.

Villanelle’s own words keep circling round in her head as she lies face to face with Eve on the bed. They must have been like this for over an hour now, and all Villanelle keeps thinking about is how she doesn’t actually know how to try, even though she really, really wants to, and also how very beautiful Eve’s face is.

Eve keeps touching her, these gentle, sweet touches across her cheeks or in her hair, and Villanelle can’t recall that anyone’s ever really touched her like that before, not with such tenderness. She didn’t even know touches like that existed really, and she certainly doesn’t know how to give the same back. Not without feeling robotic and stiff, and empty. 

Eve’s touches feel full and adoring, and real.

And this is only the start she thinks, the start of whatever road they’re heading down, and already she doesn’t feel worthy of it, doesn’t feel anywhere near equipped enough for it.

Eve yawns, her eyes closing for a few seconds before blinking back open and refocusing on Villanelle’s face, worried perhaps that this might all disappear if she falls asleep now, under the scrutiny of the harsh light of day.

You and me both, Villanelle thinks.

“You can sleep.” Villanelle murmurs, yawning herself now because yawns are catching, like colds. Villanelle wonders if being pure and good can be catching too, and if it is then maybe she can catch some of that from Eve, and then all of her darkness might just disappear. If only it were that simple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hmmm.” Eve doesn’t sound convinced, and doesn’t make any move towards sleep. “I think I want to stay awake a bit longer. But you can sleep, if you want to.”

Villanelle shakes her head, because there’s definitely no chance of getting any sleep now, and there’s also no way she’s missing out on a second of this.

“Are you going to tell me what you really talked to Margaret about?” Eve asks, her curiosity as incessant as ever. “Properly this time, without the riddles.”

Villanelle sighs, pressing her face a little deeper into her pillow, one eye almost completely obscured now.

“Does it matter? Can’t we just...?”

Eve pulls her disappointed face again, clearly already expecting more than she can give her. What a great start.

“I want to kiss you again, then.” Eve says levelly, her chin lifting defiantly, eyes challenging.

Villanelle screws her eyes shut and swallows, then nods. 

“Look at me?” Eve strokes her face again, her palm cupping her jawline. “Villanelle, it’s okay. It’s okay to feel things.”

“Do you?” Villanelle asks, opening her eyes again, blowing out a long breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Of course.”

“I mean...”

“I know what you mean.” Eve smiles, pressing a single, soft kiss to the side of her mouth. “I feel things when I’m with you. That’s what you’re asking, right?”

Another kiss, just above her top lip. 

“Maybe, yeah...” Villanelle admits, as Eve pulls her back in, kissing her deeper this time. Villanelle thinks her chest just might explode because her heart is suddenly pounding against her ribcage, and air is definitely becoming an issue, and she’s starting to feel that fire under her skin again. Eve pulls back as if she can somehow sense it, studying her.

“Are you okay?”

“I think so?” Villanelle pushes the duvet back, kicking it off the rest of her body with her legs, welcoming the coolness of the room. “It’s just...”

“A lot.” Eve repeats back to her with a half-smile. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooo... so that happened, and things are finally moving forward!
> 
> Any requests for up-coming chapters? I'm open. Need some brainstorming time now as to where we're heading next...
> 
> Also, I do keep meaning to say what a mental therapist Margaret is, and that I really don't recommend solving psychological problems with intimate physical acts. But. You know, this is a fanfic, and it works great for the plot so.


	9. Ducks and Thunderstorms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Errrrrrrr, I suck at summaries, have you noticed? Does anyone even read them anyway, I've no idea...
> 
> But if you really want one: quarantine is over, there's a balcony scene and some fluff... but I'd say it's not the fluffiest... it's like lint, maybe (on second thoughts I just re-read the whole thing and it is pretty fluffy but I think I can do fluffier...).

They have breakfast in bed, the lazy, messy kind where no one’s worried about crumbs or whether they might accidentally spill coffee on the sheets. Villanelle tears her croissant with her fingers, not bothering with a knife, dipping it straight into the mini pot of jam, while Eve fills herself with black coffee, watching her and smiling. It’s like a scene from a movie, not a scene from real life. Not a scene from her life, anyway.

Villanelle tries to remember the last person she ate breakfast with and draws a blank. She’s had brunch a lot with Konstantin, but that‘s hardly comparable. She thinks of Anna then, and how she rarely got to stay until the morning because her husband would be on his way home from a night shift. Had they ever had a breakfast like this? She remembers grabbing a handful of sugary cereal on her way out of the door a couple of times, but no, it wasn’t ever like this. It was never intimate. 

“What are you thinking about?” Eve asks, taking a cautious sip of her freshly poured coffee. “You have that face you get when something’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me.” Villanelle shrugs as she grabs another croissant. “Wait, what face?”

“Umm, it’s like...” Eve crinkles her forehead and sticks her lips out a little. 

“I do not look like that, Eve.”

“You do! In my head I call it your confused duck face.”

Villanelle gasps, looking absolutely horrified.

“That’s so rude! The other night you said I looked like a cat, this morning it’s a duck?”

“A _confused_ duck.” Eve points out, as though that somehow makes it better. “And I said that you had cat _eyes._ You don’t look like an entire cat, obviously.”

“Oh well then!” Villanelle exclaims, with a half-hearted glower. “It is still very offensive.”

“To the animals?” Eve laughs, and then leans her head apologetically onto Villanelle’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m only joking. You know you have a very beautiful face, hmm?”

“Hmm.” Villanelle relents, licking a spot of jam off her finger and trying to pretend that Eve still being snuggled into her side is totally normal and not freaking her out at all.

“What do you normally do in the mornings? You know, when you aren’t here.”

Villanelle stuffs a large piece of croissant in to buy herself time while she thinks. What does she do in the mornings? Is this a question that regular people have a meaningful answer to? Villanelle wants to say nothing, that her mornings are lonely and boring in comparison to this. But she doesn’t, of course.

“Sometimes I go for a run.”

It’s not an outright lie, she has run before after all, just not regularly or through choice. Konstantin used to come up with these awful training regimes for her, like eating a raw egg smoothie before exercising. Ugh, those were not fun mornings.

“Villanelle, I can tell when you're lying.” Eve looks up from her snuggled position with a smile, apparently not bothered about the lying but merely amused.

“Fine.” Villanelle huffs, ripping at her croissant with her teeth this time. “I hate running and my mornings are boring. Most of the time, I like to watch cartoons and eat dry cereal out of the box.” 

“Cartoons?” 

“You must have been a very annoying child. You ask a lot of questions.”

Eve finishes her coffee, stretching to put her mug down on the bedside table, before returning to Villanelle’s side.

“I just want to know more about you, that’s all.”

Villanelle looks down at the top of Eve’s head with a small sigh, worried that the more Eve digs the less interesting she’ll find her, especially now all the assassin stuff has fizzled out. There just isn’t a whole lot left.

“Kids stuff. I watch it in different languages, you know. To learn.”

“Ooh, so that’s your secret?” Eve grins now, seemingly very happy with that little snippet of information. “I had all these images of you poring through phrasebooks, but in reality you were just watching Peppa Pig?”

“I read books too.” Villanelle replies, a little more defensively than she means to, and Eve gives her arm a gentle squeeze.

“I like the cartoon thing more.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eve smiles. “Wanna watch some now?”

“Yes - no, wait a second. You haven’t told me what you like to do in the mornings yet?” 

“Oh right, well, I usually drink a lot of coffee, as you know. And I like to read the newspaper, and do the daily crossword puzzle.” Eve mumbles the last part, as though slightly embarrassed. 

Villanelle thinks how very Eve that is, to be solving a conundrum as soon as she rolls out of bed.

“You probably think that’s boring.” Eve follows up, with a half-shrug. 

“No, I like it. It is very you.”

“Cartoons now?” Eve checks, waving the remote at the TV. Villanelle nods, setting her plate down and nestling back against her pillows. Eve curls into Villanelle a little tighter, her big head of curly hair tickling her face. “You won’t be offended if I fall asleep will you?” Eve asks with a ridiculously huge yawn, and Villanelle gives her an incredulous look.

“How can you sleep after all that coffee? That’s not normal, Eve.”

“I’m immune.” Eve murmurs back, eyes already closed. 

Villanelle chews her lower lip, only half watching the stupid pink pig as it dances across the screen. She starts to wonder what will happen if Eve has too much of her, and whether she could get immune to her too. Whether she could just stop finding her attractive or funny, or... whatever it is that Eve finds her, because she’s not actually too sure.

“Eve?”

“Mm?”

“Do you think you can get immune to people too?”

Eve cracks open one eye.

“Not to you.” She says simply, her voice sleepy but sure. “It would be impossible. You’re too big of a pain in the ass for starters.”

****

Eve wakes several hours later, alone, and starfished across the bed. She immediately feels it, like a rock in her stomach, the heavy disappointment of waking up alone. And then she promptly chastises herself for being so needy, for being so deep in already. But then, who is she kidding? She’s been in too deep with Villanelle for as long as she can remember.

Villanelle.

Eve sighs to herself, stretching out her limbs and forcing herself to her feet, her body clock still feeling groggy and disoriented from such a long daytime nap. She doesn’t remember the last time she slept so heavily in the day, she just isn’t a nap sort of person, but then again she doesn’t normally spend half her night awake, cuddling and kissing with a cute blonde either.

Oh dear. Cute blonde.

Eve rubs her face with a sobering hand, trying to get her thoughts back in order before she thinks something she regrets. Which she’ll then no doubt say, because her brain and her mouth have a tendency to just run on one continuous loop, especially when she’s tired. 

She finds Villanelle - aka the cute blonde - on the balcony, no longer wearing her Olaf pyjamas, and instead draped in a beautiful, brightly coloured sundress. Not that it’s particularly sunny, she notes. It actually looks like it might rain, but that doesn’t seem to have deterred Villanelle from her fashion choice.

“Hey.” Eve greets, feeling a little sheepish at having spent so long in bed. “Sorry, I’ve basically wasted our whole day together, haven’t I?”

Villanelle smiles at her, her elbows still propped up on the balcony wall, the wind whipping at her hair.

“Nah. We’re stuck in quarantine until tonight anyway, so it’s not like you’ve missed anything.” 

“I guess.” Eve mumbles, although she does feel like she’s missed something. Maybe because every time she’s away from Villanelle she doesn’t know what Villanelle she’s coming back to. This Villanelle seems very calm and serious, for instance. “Do you mind if I stand out here with you for a bit?”

“It’s a free country, Eve.”

See? Very serious.

“Have you been out here all this time?” Eve wonders aloud, folding her arms against the wind. “It’s cold.”

“Just for a little while, and not really.” Villanelle shrugs back, her eyes trailing over to Eve. Eve can tell she’s thinking something, because her brow is now slightly furrowed. “You probably feel cold because you’ve just got out of bed.”

“Probably.”

“Do...” Another frown, deeper now, almost going into duck face again. “Wait here.”

And she’s gone, leaving Eve alone again, and God she’s definitely feeling far too needy. It’s silly, because she never felt like this with Niko, not even at the start when things should be...

Eve stops herself there, not wanting to mar the good memories with comparisons between how she felt then and how she feels now, or how Niko made her feel and how Villanelle makes her feel, which is just absolutely, flipping incredible and...

Stop. God. Just stop.

Eve puts her head in her hands. She can feel a headache coming on, probably because she hasn’t had anything to eat or drink all day besides coffee.

“Here.” Villanelle’s voice is suddenly right behind her, and she’s draping something over her shoulders. It’s her coat, her canary yellow coat, the one that she’d worn here, that she’d worn on the bridge. “I got mine, I hope that’s okay. Yours is just so ugly, Eve. I mean really, truly ugly.”

“Wow, don’t hold back.” Eve finds herself laughing, as she draws the coat in tighter. It smells like Villanelle, with a tinge of London smog, and Eve can’t get enough of it.

“Are you smelling my coat?”

“It smells like home.” Eve confesses, and then, when she sees a flash of panic on Villanelle’s face, quickly adds. “London.”

Villanelle visibly relaxes again, and smiles.

“You miss it?”

“Maybe a little. But not as much as I thought I would, you know?”

And there her brain goes again, mixing everything up, because she’s not sure she’s just talking about London. She thinks she means her old life, and Niko, and her house, and maybe even her chicken. Although she always kind of hated that chicken, it was messy and noisy, and laid really small, tasteless eggs. 

“Do you miss it?” Eve asks now, keen to deflect from her own inner ramblings. 

“It’s different for me, London’s not my home.”

“Where do you call home then?” She regrets it as soon as the question leaves her mouth, and Villanelle pushes off from the wall, nodding towards the sky.

“It’s going to rain. We should go back inside.”

“Villanelle, wait.” Eve reaches towards her, grasping her arm, forgetting her injury in her urgency. Villanelle flinches. “Shit, sorry, that was stupid. I mean, both things were stupid. What I said and what I just did, to your arm... it was just, incredibly... stupid. And I’m really, really-”

“Stupid?”

“ _Sorry_.” Eve amends with a quirk of her eyebrow. “I was going to say I’m sorry, actually.”

“Oh.” Villanelle looks down at her feet. “Well, thanks for saying how stupid and sorry you are.”

“I didn’t say _I_ was stupi-” Eve cuts herself off, huffing a little. “Never mind. Can... will you stay out here with me, for a bit longer? Please?”

Villanelle glances up at the sky again, as though giving the request serious consideration. God, she’s annoying, Eve thinks, she can’t even accept a grovelling apology gracefully. 

“Aright.” Villanelle finally agrees, her face shifting into a small grin. “But you better go in as soon as it starts to rain, because my coat is really, really expensive.”

Eve laughs, relieved that serious Villanelle seems to be thawing out after a little bit of gentle persuasion. Or a little bit of creeping, crawling and grovelling. But whatever.

“You know we didn’t finish our handholding homework...” Eve reminds, eyeing Villanelle’s hand as she wraps it back over the balcony wall. “We still have two more to go.”

“I think we failed.” Villanelle laments sadly. “Weren’t we meant to do it before our next session?”

“I don’t think that phone session counts, it was an emergency...”

“But technically we still missed our actual next session, because we were passed out on the floor, so...”

Eve fixes Villanelle with an ‘ugh’ face, because ugh?! 

“Villanelle?!”

“What?!”

“I’m - God!”

“You’re God? You’re not having a heart attack are you? Because the last time I heard a weird sentence like that...”

Eve throws her hands up in the air, beyond exasperated now.

“Villanelle.” She reattempts, looking her straight in the eye. “I’m trying to... will you... Christ! Just hold my hand, you absolute asshole!”

Villanelle widens her eyes and makes an ‘okayyy’ face, like Eve has completely lost the plot. Which she very well might have, all things considered.

“Wow, Eve. That is _so_ rude. Why didn’t you just say so?”

Eve clears her throat, trying to embody an air of calmness that she definitely does not possess.

“I thought you’d get it.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know.”

They stare at each other.

“Okay. So, I’m going to hold your hand now.” Eve says slowly and clearly.

“Okay.”

Eve puts her hand over Villanelle’s, threading their fingers together. 

“There.”

Villanelle nods in acknowledgement, and then they both make a point of looking back out over the balcony. 

Eve makes every effort to admire the view, she really does, but honestly all she can think about is Villanelle’s hand, and her thumb, which is now stroking her thumb. And how can two thumbs feel so good together?

“This is nice.” Villanelle says, and Eve falters because she doesn’t know if she means the view, or them holding hands, or maybe their perfectly matched thumbs. 

“The view.” Villanelle clarifies.

Oh.

“And this.” Villanelle lifts their joined hands slightly. 

Ahh.

“I know.” Eve agrees with a contented smile. “And don’t you think our thumbs go great together?”

****

They have dinner in the main hall, mushroom tagliatelle with some sickly sweet chocolate thing for dessert. It feels weird to rejoin the rest of the world again, it’s busy and loud, and there’s too many annoying and irrelevant distractions. Like Jane, who keeps waving elatedly at them from across the room.

Villanelle sighs, realising that she might actually miss quarantine now that it’s over. And it seems like the weather is commiserating right along with her, because the rain is coming down in bucketfuls outside.

“Do you think that couple over there are a bit weird looking?” Eve asks, gesturing subtlety across the room with a wave of her dessert spoon.

Villanelle shakes her head, not even bothering to look up.

“Nah.”

“No, really, I mean, they seem a bit...” Eve lowers her voice. “Twelve-y.”

“Twelve-y?” Villanelle repeats back, grinning now. “Only you could make The Twelve into a cute little adjective.”

Eve smiles at that, but then quickly falls serious again.

“But, what if it is them, a-and what if they’ve found us?”

“Eve.” Villanelle breathes out tiredly, because she really is so, so tired of all these annoying and irrelevant distractions. “You just have some post-quarantine paranoia. We’re fine.”

“Hmmm.”

Villanelle doesn’t think as she reaches out across the table to take Eve’s hand, it just sort of happens in an instinctive blur. She squeezes, gently, hoping to reground them.

“One public handhold.” Eve points out quietly.

“Mm-hmm. I think that makes us three for three.”

“I think so.” Eve whispers back, all soft eyed and smiling. “Sorry for freaking out.”

Villanelle gives a half-shrug, secretly relieved that it’s Eve freaking out for once and not her. Not that she wants Eve to freak out, but it makes her freak outs seem a little more acceptable somehow... well, sort of. Villanelle has a momentary debate with herself about whether freaking out about your own potential murder is comparable to freaking out about being kissed, cuddled or, hell, even tenderly touched. And then decides that it’s probably, most definitely not.

Damn.

They head back upstairs after dinner, both weary and quiet, and both glad to be back in their own space, away from crazy Jane and the hustle and bustle of the dining room.

Villanelle has just finished brushing her teeth when it starts: a flash of blinding white that makes shadows pop out from places where shadows should not be, followed by a pause, and then the telltale grumble of thunder.

Villanelle throws her toothbrush into the sink with a clatter and exits the bathroom at speed, vaulting over Eve, who is already in bed, and burying herself under the blankets so that just her head is poking out.

Eve, who is - or rather was - engrossed in another lame antiques show on the TV, turns to look at her.

“Um, are you okay?”

Villanelle nods earnestly, releasing her grip on the duvet a little.

“Uh-huh. I’m fine.”

“You’re aware you just long jumped your way into our bed?”

Our bed, she notes, that’s new.

“I know. I do that sometimes. Keeps me limber.”

“O-kay then.” Eve replies sceptically, glancing towards the balcony window, where rain is hammering against the glass so hard it sounds like it might break. Or at least that’s what it sounds like to Villanelle’s ears - regular ears would probably just hear heavy rain on a window, which is, you know, exactly what it is. “You’re not... scared of storms, are you?”

“Pfft.” 

“Villanelle.”

“Don’t be stupid, Eve.” Villanelle laughs, turning her attention to the TV in hope of a distraction. “I want to go antique shopping.”

“You do?” Eve asks, surprised. “I don’t think it’s as easy as it looks. You have to know what you’re looking for.”

“I do know what I’m looking for!” Villanelle says, as though it’s painstakingly obvious. “I want to buy something for very little money that’s worth a lot, so that I can sell it for a really big profit.”

Eve starts to laugh but stops abruptly when she sees that Villanelle looks utterly deadpan.

“I’m serious, Eve. That’s the whole point, no?”

“Yes, that’s the whole point.” Eve concedes, still looking a bit too amused for Villanelle’s liking. “Well, I hope it goes well for you.”

“Thank yo-” Villanelle clips her reply with a surprised squeak, as another jolt of lightening strikes, bleaching the room into an almost translucent, ghostly white. 

She pulls the covers over her head, her body quivering as she waits, almost paralysed, for the inevitable roll of thunder to follow.

“Villanelle...” Eve suddenly appears under the covers with her, looking concerned. “What are-”

“I don’t like it.” Villanelle blurts out, as though that’s not clear enough already. “I really, really, really d-don’t.” 

Her voice stutters a little at the end, as the thunder finally breaks around them, and she curls into herself a little tighter, bringing her knees to her chest.

Eve hums quietly in response, almost reaching for her, but not quite, her gestures fumbled and uncertain.

Villanelle quickly shakes her head to ward her off.

“Don’t touch me. Please, just - don’t.”

“Okay.” If Eve’s upset by that she doesn’t sound it, or show it. “Is there anything else I can do, instead?”

“Just... stay.”

“Okay.”

Eve stays. Eve stays under the hot, airless duvet for a full forty-five minutes. She doesn’t do anything, apart from make the odd ssh-ing noise, occasionally murmuring that it’ll all be over soon. She doesn’t try to touch her, not even when she’s a trembling wreck, and Villanelle feels a strange fullness when it’s all over. She thinks that the fullness must be a funny mix of appreciation and awe for Eve’s complete selflessness, because no one’s ever done that for her before, or anything remotely like it.

They emerge from the covers a little sweaty and a lot exhausted. Eve checks Villanelle’s okay to be left for a minute, while she goes to get her, her antibiotics, and Villanelle can’t even form the words or coherent thoughts for that.

She takes the antibiotics, still wordless, and Eve climbs back into bed and starts watching the next episode of her show, like nothing even happened.

“Eve?”

“Yeah?”

Villanelle purses her lips, breathes in deep through her nose and then says:

“I’m scared of thunderstorms. Like, really scared of thunderstorms.”

Eve nods slowly, but doesn’t say anything.

Villanelle takes another deep breath, tips her head a little closer to Eve’s and continues:

“I don’t know why. It’s just always been that way, for as long as I can remember.”

Eve nods again, and then finally says:

“I’m scared of clowns.” 

“Clowns?”

“Clowns. It’s a thing. It has a name - coulrophobia.”

“Huh.” Villanelle absorbs this information slowly. “I dressed up as a clown once...”

“Is this one of your stories that ends in murder?”

“Pretty much all my stories end in murder, Eve.”

“Yeah, but... clown murder?” Eve shudders. “That’s _so_ scary.”

“Whereas regular murder...isn't?”

Eve laughs and gives her leg a playful nudge with her foot.

“Shut up.” 

Villanelle smiles and burrows a little deeper into her pillow, suddenly overcome by a wave of irrepressible fatigue. She turns her body towards Eve’s, not permitting herself to think on it, and lets her hand rest between them, her knuckles occasionally brushing against the soft material of Eve’s pyjama top when she breathes.

Sleep comes all too quickly then, not at all discouraged by the background chatter of the Bargain Hunt contestants, nor by the way Eve’s foot eventually comes to rest against her leg. And, for the third night running, she doesn’t dream of Russia, not even for one second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you to everyone who is reading this!! Your comments are just amazing and seriously pull me through whenever I'm in a writing slump.
> 
> I completely re-wrote half this chapter and I'm much happier what what I have now, so I hope you all enjoy it too...
> 
> Have to mention Jodie Comer's stunning BAFTA photo - because what even?
> 
> Margaret fans please do not fret, she will be back and I'm sure she'll bring with her all the pearls of wisdom.


	10. Make or Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again.
> 
> I can't believe I'm on chapter 10? But anyway.
> 
> Summary... soooo... group therapy, quite a bit of swearing (sorry) and a bad breakfast for our poor Eve.

Villanelle wakes herself with a particularly loud, snort-y snore, followed by a mortified groan. How unfair of the Universe, she thinks, to wake her in such an ugly way, from what was surely the deepest and most serene sleep she’s experienced in months.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Eve chuckles beside her, sounding far too fresh and awake, which probably means she's been awake for some time, listening to her concerto of ghastly snores.

“ _Goddd._ ” Is all Villanelle can bring herself to say, still trying to pull herself through the thick fog of sleep. “Was I doing that all night?”

Eve laughs again.

“For most of it, yeah.”

Villanelle groans some more and attempts to open her eyes. She manages to squint at Eve for all of two seconds, her eyelids so heavy her eyes are practically rolling back into her head in protest. It’s inevitable of course, that they drift closed again, earning a third round of giggles from Eve.

“Poor thing.” Eve’s voice is humming now, practically cooing at her. “Go back to sleep, hmm? It’s still early.”

Villanelle starts to grumble something unintelligible, she thinks it’s meant to be an objection of some kind, but Eve is suddenly touching her and the sound dies instantly on her lips. 

“Is this okay?” Eve whispers, as her fingers trace over her fallen eyelids, down her cheeks and across her slightly parted mouth. 

Villanelle shivers, her body sparking in response like an ill-wired circuit, sending little jolts of electricity out into her muscles and skin.

“Eve...” She tries to warn her, sleep rapidly vanishing now, all but forgotten. 

Eve shushes her, and makes the same soothing sounds as she did under the blanket during the thunderstorm. And Villanelle’s body knows them, recognises them as safe, and it goes some way to quell the nerves that are rising in her chest, as she blinks her eyes open, staring straight into brown. 

Eve’s eyes are something else entirely, black as coffee in certain lights, but in the glow of morning they’re a deep chestnut with flecks of gold.

“I’m going to kiss you, Eve.” Villanelle tells her, because it feels like the least she can do, to alert her to her fervid intentions.

But Eve kisses her first. It’s unexpected and brazen, and Villanelle’s chest goes so tight it’s like she’s breathing through a straw. 

Eve is all over her in seconds, in a frenzy of limbs, and for a long moment Villanelle isn’t sure where she starts and Eve ends. There’s just warmth and grasping hands, and kisses, so many kisses her mouth is starting to forget how to kiss. Like when you say a word too many times and it starts to sound foreign on your tongue.

And Villanelle’s tongue definitely feels foreign right now.

And Eve’s laughing at her all over again, another soft, giddy, dizzying laugh. Like sunshine - and God what is this? What’s happening to her.

“Too much?” Eve asks, pulling back, all sultry eyes and messy hair, and looking very much like someone who knows they just aced their test. 

And Villanelle knows she must look like someone who’s just been thoroughly kissed, can feel the warmth on her skin and the flush of pink on her cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful.” Eve tells her then, dotting a few more kisses over her face, slower now, like she’s trying to rebalance Villanelle, who is still very much unbalanced. If she wasn’t lying down she considers that her legs probably couldn’t hold her up. “Are you alright?”

Villanelle manages to nod, just about. Her chest still feels like an elephant is sitting on it, and her heart is beating like a trapped bird against her rib cage. 

Eve looks down at her again, watches the fast and shallow rise of her chest, places her hand on it, feels her heart racing. And Villanelle just watches her right back, feeling helpless and yet so completely safe all at the same time.

“Ssh, it’s okay.” Eve is repeating, pressing her mouth to the shell of her right ear now. “I’ve got you.”

And it hits a nerve, of course, that Eve can know exactly what she needs to hear, without really having any idea what sad, worthless thoughts are spinning in the back of her head somewhere. Villanelle doesn’t even hear them herself anymore, it’s just a constant stream, like a dripping tap.

Drip, drip, drip.

She gives in a little, drawing her arms around Eve and holding onto her, burying her face into her neck and hair, and why has she resisted this for so long?

“Villanelle?”

“Mmm?”

“I want to do this every morning.” Eve whispers into her skin, and Villanelle finds herself smiling.

“So, no more crossword puzzles?”

“Uh-uh.” Eve grins and then kisses her neck, and then - “Shit.”

“What?” 

Eve is pulling back, limbs are dragged from tangled limbs and her smile is washed away by a worried frown.

“We aren’t supposed to be doing this.” 

“Again, _what_?”

“Margaret didn’t say we could kiss yet.” Eve explains, sucking in her lower lip. 

“It’s fine.” Villanelle sighs out, running a hand down Eve’s arm, hoping it’s reassuring, or comforting or whatever the hell these nice little gestures are supposed to be. “She told me to kiss you.”

“What?” Eve’s frown gets even more frown-y. “What do you mean she _told_ you to?”

Oh shit. 

Villanelle stills her hand, still touching Eve’s arm, but a lot less certain about it now.

“Not like that, I mean, she did but...” A shrug. “It’s complicated.”

“So I was your private homework, basically?”

“Noooo, Eve. No. Come on?”

Eve rolls away from her, climbs out of bed, pacing.

“That’s why you kissed me the other night, isn’t it? Why you were trying so hard?”

Villanelle scrambles to sit up now, trying to regain some solid ground.

“Well, sort of, yes, but-”

“Shut up! Just, shut up.” Eve fixes her with a look so wounded it’s like a stab in the heart. Or the abdomen for a second time. Only with a bigger knife, with serrated edges. “I thought... God, I’m such an idiot!”

“Eve-”

Villanelle wants to say something to make it better, to make it all go back to how it was a few minutes ago, but the words just won’t come. She feels an inevitable apathy about the whole thing, like this was going to happen at some point anyway, so why not now? Why not when she felt her first flicker of... was it happiness? Villanelle doesn’t know, doesn’t even want to know. 

Eve stares at her for a bit longer, perhaps waiting, perhaps hoping she’s going to turn it all around somehow. She isn’t. And then, when Eve eventually realises that there’s no more fight left in her, she goes into the bathroom and slams the door.

Drip, drip, drip.

****

Eve cries in the shower, cries while she gets dressed and cries while she dries her hair. It’s the stupid sort of snivelling crying that doesn’t produce many tears and feels wholly unsatisfying.

She’s so mad at Villanelle. Mad at her for not telling her sooner, mad at her for letting her think it was all about them - _all about her_ \- when in reality the whole thing has been fully orchestrated and manufactured during a telephone call with their therapist.

And - _worst of all_ \- she fell for it. Because she wanted it so badly to be real, because she wanted so badly for Villanelle to finally be letting her in. She wanted it. She wanted them. She wanted her.

Eve storms out of the bathroom, barely looking at Villanelle, who is pretty much still sitting in the exact same spot and still wearing her utterly ridiculous Olaf pyjamas. She hesitates, wondering whether to speak to her, or whether to just continue her silent storm all the way down to breakfast.

“I’m going for breakfast.” She tells her, making sure to portray her still simmering anger with her narrowed eyes. “We have group therapy in an hour. Don’t be late.”

There. 

Eve takes off, not waiting for a response, not even wanting or expecting one.

Breakfast without Villanelle is awful. Her coffee tastes too bitter, her toast gets cold and soggy because she leaves it to sit for too long, and of course - OF COURSE - Jane comes over.

“No Veronica this morning?” 

Fuck the fuck off, Eve thinks as she musters a strained smile.

“No.”

“She’s not still sick is she?” Jane asks, sounding way more invested in their situation than she has any right or need to be.

Eve pauses, uncertain of what to say, knowing there’s a distinct possibility Villanelle will be a no-show all day, and what excuse will she give to Jane then?

“Err, I don’t think so. Just tired.”

Jane pulls her mouth down at the corners, in a sympathetic grimace.

“Another lover's tiff? Totally normal at this stage I’m afraid. Margaret doesn’t call it the ‘make or break‘ point for nothing. The statistics aren’t great either. Less than half of all couples make it through from here, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.” Eve rolls her eyes, feeling more miserable by the minute. “I thought you said Margaret was world renowned?”

“Oh she is! If you aren’t together by the end of it you're at _least_ amicably separated.”

“Wow, reassuring.”

“I know right! She got my friend a great divorce settlement too.” 

Eve spends the rest of her cold, bitter breakfast listening to Jane talk about her happily divorced friend who got her husband’s yacht, Bengal cat and their holiday home in the South of France.

Eve _really_ spends the whole time thinking about Villanelle, and sadly concludes that if they do separate they don’t even have any shared belongings to argue over. And then she starts to ask herself if they were ever really together anyway, and that’s just even more depressing.

Group therapy takes place in a huge room with lots of grass green leather armchairs, arranged in your typical circular, therapy-ready fashion. It smells funny, Eve thinks, like musty incense or an old people’s home. And everyone arrives early, piling through the expansive double doors, excitedly clutching their well-worn copies of Margaret’s book... everyone that is except Villanelle.

_Where the hell is she?!_ Eve can’t help but ask herself, feeling a whole new surge of anger rise within her. _How dare she stand me up_ , and _what an asshole_ , feature in her thoughts several billion times too.

Eve tries to concentrate on Margaret's eloquent explanation about the purpose and benefits of coming together as a group, but all the while her eyes just keep flitting from the empty chair beside her to the door, and her anger bubbles away, like a pot about to boil over.

Villanelle does eventually come sauntering through the double doors, nearly knocking them off their hinges as she swings them open with her typical dramatic flare. She’s ten minutes late, which Eve suspects is done entirely to piss her off some more, and she’s wearing a completely over the top patterned suit. Everyone, _literally everyone_ , turns to look at her. 

Except Eve.

Eve purposefully folds her arms and turns the opposite way, fixing her attention on Margaret, and then proceeds to try and ignore how her skin prickles when Villanelle finally drops down into the seat beside her.

“Miss me?” Villanelle whispers, clearly intent on being an utter asshole about the whole thing.

“Sod off.”

They go round the circle, making their introductions, and there’s far too many names and faces for Eve to even begin to try and remember. She finds it easier to refer to them in her head as the ugly-couple, or the ginger-couple, or the whatever-defining-feature-happens-to-jump-out-at-her-first couple. She wonders what people would call them... the lesbian-couple probably, being as everyone else here is straighter than straight. Except maybe Roger. Eve does wonder a little about Roger...

“Kate and Veronica, you’re up next. Can you share your progress with the group, please?” Margaret asks, seemingly out of the blue, and Eve realises she’s been lost in her own thoughts for way longer than she intended.

“Um, I’m not sure where to start really...” Eve mumbles, looking down at her lap, an anticipatory lump forming in her throat. 

“Well, how about you just focus on the last twenty-four hours. How has that been?” Margaret pushes, trying to give her some kind of helpful foothold. 

And before she even knows what’s happening, Eve finds herself sobbing. The big, loud, ugly sobs that wouldn’t come out in the bathroom.

“Fuck.” Villanelle mutters, shifting uncomfortably beside her as everyone else in the circle starts to emit soft, concerned murmurs.

And Jane is passing her a packet of pocket tissues. Fucking Jane.

Eve sobs louder.

“Veronica?” Margaret prompts with an encouraging wave of her hands, nodding towards Eve.

“Err, right, yeah.” Villanelle awkwardly puts an arm around Eve’s shoulders, which Eve immediately attempts to shrug off. Villanelle tightens her grip so much it almost hurts. “We were having a fantastic time actually... until about two hours ago.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by Eve’s hiccupping cries.

“Yeah, so, we got a phone call, and it turns out that, um...”

“Yes? Remember this is a safe space, Veronica.” Margaret relays, and everyone nods supportively. “You can say anything here, just let it all out.”

“Right, of course.” Villanelle nods along with them, dropping her head at the last moment as she takes a shaky breath. “So, the thing is... our dog died.”

Eve starts to quite literally choke on her own tears, and Villanelle pulls her sharply into her chest, attempting to obscure her utterly appalled face.

“He was our baby.” Villanelle continues quickly. “We got him from one of those sad rescue centres with all the little cages? He was so, so ugly, but such a great dog, you know.”

The whole circle is tearing up, as Eve’s own tears start to dry up on the fabric of Villanelle’s suit in sheer disbelief. 

“What was his name? What happened to him?” Jane asks, and Villanelle barely even falters in her reply.

“Moustache.” She pauses. “Farming accident... there was a pitchfork...”

There’s a collective gasp.

“Oh my God...”

“I know.” Villanelle sighs sadly.

****

“Oh my God... oh my God...”

Villanelle sits on the edge of the chaise lounge, feet together and hands tucked between her thighs as Eve paces back and forth, and back and forth and...

“Oh my God?” 

“You keep saying that.” Villanelle points out, watching Eve with big, suspenseful eyes.

“Because I’m in _shock_!” Eve roars back, her hands swiping at thin air to portray her fury. “How could you _do_ that?!”

“Do what?”

“What were you even _thinking_?!” Eve paces again, her head shaking and hands trembling. “You had thirty plus people in tears over an imaginary dead dog!”

“Oh, that.” Villanelle acknowledges calmly. 

“And _how dare you_ bring my almost-dead ex-husband into it! To use his almost-murder as part of your story!”

“It was the first thing that came into my head.” Villanelle shrugs, not really seeing the big deal. 

“Oh well, that‘s alright then!” Eve shouts sarcastically, going back to her irate pacing. “I want you to tell Margaret that you made the whole thing up!”

“Eve! No! I like Moustache. Everyone likes Moustache. That little story I made up about him chasing a stick at the park? So cute.”

“You’re telling her! First thing tomorrow!”

“You’re sooo annoying!” Villanelle whines with a scowl. “You’re the one who said we should have a fake dog, remember? And anyway, I was only doing you a favour.”

“A favour!?”

“Yes.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

Villanelle rolls her eyes as high as they'll go.

“Look, Eve, I know you’re still mad about the kissing thing, but you’ve got it all wrong, I-”

“ _I’ve_ got it wrong?!” Eve laughs, but it’s not one of her happy, sunshine laughs, it sounds raw and strained. “You’re the one who’s _wrong_.”

Villanelle feels something shift inside of her, like a light going out, or a connection short circuiting.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Drip. _You didn't cry as a baby_. Drip. _Agent of chaos._ Drip. _You were bad from the beginning._

Eve stops pacing to stare at her, her eyes dark and hard, her shoulders tense and mouth twitching, like she’s right on the verge of saying something she knows she'll regret.

“Nothing.” She utters eventually, shoulders slumping, but Villanelle is already on her feet and lifting one end of the chaise lounge. "What the hell are you doing now!?"

"I'm taking this outside!" Villanelle grunts back, dragging the surprisingly heavy chaise lounge towards the balcony doors. "I'm sleeping out there tonight!"

"What!? Don't be so stupid! You can't take that out there!?"

"Watch me!" 

Eve watches her for all of three seconds, before grabbing and lifting the opposite end of the chaise lounge in a bid to stop her.

"Put it down and stop being an idiot!"

"No! You put it down!"

"No!"

"Stop pulling it!"

"You stop pulling it!"

"Screw you, Eve!" Villanelle all but screams, recklessly releasing her end of the cumbersome piece of furniture, without a single thought for the fact that Eve is struggling under the weight of its opposing end.

Eve and the chaise lounge both hit the floor with an almighty bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh dear. Do you all hate me now? Very sorry about that, but it had to be done.
> 
> I wasn't expecting to end it there, I had written on a bit further in my brain but it felt like a good place to stop... a bit of a cliffhanger? Although I'm pretty sure no one's died from being flattened by a chaise lounge... but there's always a first time for everything. 
> 
> Thank you as always for all your lovely comments <3
> 
> P.S. I mean no offence to ginger people, I was a ginger baby and I'm now happily auburn myself.


	11. Just in Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WOW. I just want to thank you all so much for all the amazing comments you've left. I've said it several before but it really does give me the push to keep writing.
> 
> Summary time again: So, it's Eve post chaise lounge, more Villanelle brain time and a therapy session, pretty much.

Eve sees stars. Literal stars that burst in front of her eyes, making pretty kaleidoscope patterns against her fading vision. It’s like she’s caught in a riptide, and she finds herself going in and out, and in, and out...

She can hear Villanelle’s voice, but it sounds garbled, like it’s also getting swallowed up in the undercurrent. Her ears ring, and she vaguely wonders what happened to her... remembers the chaise lounge and the yelling. Wonders if she got crushed by the chaise lounge, whether her body is flat now, although her head feels really big. Too, too big for her little flat body.

And her ankle hurts. She moans in pain, wanting to complain about it, surfacing now, the ringing getting a little less and Villanelle’s voice, and face, and hands starting to break through the waterlogged, star spangled haze.

Villanelle’s hands are cupping her too-big head, thumbs smoothing against her cheeks, those thumbs that she thinks were made for her thumbs. 

“Eve? Eve, please. Say something?”

Villanelle sounds upset, and worried. Her voice an octave higher than it normally is, and it hurts Eve’s heart to hear her like that. And her head. Her head really hurts a lot, actually.

“I’m okay.” Eve murmurs back, and she hears Villanelle let out a gush of relieved air; feels it like a gentle breeze on her face. 

“Shit. You scared me. I think you passed out for a minute. Do you feel okay, like, really okay?”

The gentle breeze stops, as Villanelle presumably holds her breath again, waiting for an answer.

“I’m okay.” Eve repeats again, and the breeze is back.

“Okay. Okay, that’s good.”

Eve closes her eyes.

“My head hurts.”

“Yeah, well you hit it pretty hard when you went down.”

“Feels big.” Eve frowns, concerned. “Is it big?”

“No. It’s head sized.”

“Oh, good...”

“Do you think you can sit up?” 

Eve forces her eyes open again, giving a cautious nod, and Villanelle eases her upwards, supporting her back and holding onto one of her forearms.

“You okay?” Villanelle asks, as Eve blinks against a second round of stars. They’re smaller now though and less obtrusive. She feels woozy, and a bit sick, and she lets her head rest on Villanelle’s very nice and very comfortable chest. “You’re not going to throw up on me, are you?”

“No...” Eve grunts, although she doesn’t feel or sound terribly convincing. 

“Hmm, do you think you can stand?”

Eve can barely bring herself to shake her head, because every little movement seems to make the world tilt and sway on its axis.

“My ankle.” She settles on, although she considers that’s probably the least of her problems, what with her ginormous, swirling head.

“Which one?”

“Left.”

Eve groans, pressing her face deeper into Villanelle’s chest, because she’s definitely going to be sick in a minute if she doesn’t lie back down.

Villanelle smells nice, she thinks, sweet and zesty like lemons. Or maybe lemonade, but the proper, homemade kind.

Eve decides she’s going to tell her this, but all that comes out is...

“Lemons, smell nice.”

“Oookay...” Villanelle replies, sounding a little concerned again. “Let’s just get you into bed first, and then I’ll check on your ankle. Alright?”

“Yes. Please.”

Villanelle scoops her up like she’s a feather. At least that’s how Eve feels, all floaty and light, like she could just blow away if the wind caught her, never to be seen again. But Villanelle won’t let that happen, she knows, because she holds her so tight and so close.

When she puts her down she almost feels bereft, like a ship without an anchor, just drifting.

Drifting... drifting...

“Eve! Don’t go to sleep.”

Not drifting. Now she’s tethered down again and sloshing on the waves.

“I’m going to be sick.” Eve tells her, because she feels like she might, and Villanelle is already fetching the wastepaper bin, way ahead of her. Somehow, always way ahead of her, and just out of reach.

“Here.” She says, nestling it in her lap. “I think I should get Dr. Wilson.” 

“No.” Eve protests. “I’m fine.”

“You have a concussion, Eve.”

“Concussion smushion.” Eve dismisses.

“Smushion isn’t a word, Eve?”

“I know that.”

“Okay. Just checking.”

Villanelle shifts her attention to her ankle, slips off her sock, asks her to wiggle her toes, and runs her hands over the slopes of her bones and round the painful mechanism of her joint.

“I think you’ve just twisted it. Sprained it, maybe. It doesn’t look swollen or anything.”

“Good, that’s good.” Eve breathes out, feeling reassured that she’s not flat bodied, or big headed or broken ankle’d. Okay, so she knows that ankle’d isn’t a word either, but she deserves some literary grace here.

“Eve, I feel so bad about this.” Villanelle speaks in a quiet rush, her accent so strong it’s hard to make the worlds out properly. Or at least Eve hopes it’s her accent, and not the start of her mushed up brain’s slow decline. “Like, all of it. I didn’t know you would get crushed?” She makes it a question, like she’s waiting for Eve to absolve her and say she already knows that. Eve says nothing. “Shit. This is all so shit, Eve. I’m sorry.”

Eve lifts her eyebrows a little at that, because it’s not often Villanelle says she’s sorry and actually sounds like she means it.

“I want to talk to you about Margaret? About the kiss?”

Eve grimaces and gives a slow shake of her head.

“Not now.”

“Are you still-”

“Yes. I’m still mad at you.” 

“Oh.” Villanelle says, sounding disappointed. “No chance of amnesia then?”

Eve closes her eyes, and shakes her head again, letting out a pensive sigh. Even with her eyes shut tight and her head impossibly still, she still feels nauseous now. Like she’s swimming in darkness.

“Too soon for jokes, huh?” Villanelle asks, totally unaware of the impending disaster that’s about to unfurl from Eve’s stomach.

Eve heaves into the wastepaper basket seconds later, barely registering what’s happening before it’s, well, already happened. And it’s surely some kind of miracle that she even makes the basket at all, because she can barely sit up or see straight, let alone aim.

“Yeah, definitely too soon.” Villanelle mutters, putting a light hand on Eve’s back and attempting an awkward sort of patting motion. “There, there.” Villanelle offers, sounding stilted and like she’d really like all this to be over now. “Let it all out, like Margaret says.”

Eve wilts back against her pillows with an irritated groan.

“Stop talking about Margaret!”

“Okay, okay, sorry... geez. It just seemed like good advice.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing do you.” Eve says dryly, thinking how it’s just her luck to not only get a concussion from a bloody chaise lounge, but to then be looked after by the most useless person on the planet.

“I do. I’ve had medical training.”

Eve looks at her, despite the swimming.

“What training.” 

“You know. What might kill you type stuff. Or, what might kill someone else type stuff.”

“Great. Really helpful.”

“This won’t kill you.” Villanelle says reassuringly confident, and then pauses for thought. “Well, probably not.”

“Fantastic. Can I sleep now then?”

Eve really hopes the answer is yes, because she’s very sleepy, and talking to Villanelle at the best of times is nothing short of exhausting. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Eve.”

“But, I’m sooo tired...”

Villanelle rubs the back of her neck, looking uncomfortably stressed.

“Alright. Just for a little while.”

****

Villanelle watches Eve sleep all evening and into the night. She watches the way her eyelids dance when she dreams, and the way her hair gets fluffier and more unruly as she rolls and turns on her pillow.

Villanelle wakes her a few times, just to make sure she’s still rousable, and she whispers things to her in those half-awake moments. She tells her she’s sorry all over again, that she’s wanted to kiss her forever, and that maybe they can rescue a real puppy when all this is over.

But she doubts Eve will even remember it in the morning, because she’s so groggy and out of it, and although Eve does muster a few half-smiles, she’s straight back to sleep seconds later.

And that’s probably why she said those things, those little untold, unspeakable things. The things that she can never find the words for when Eve’s conscious, and expectant.

It’s the expectation that does it, she thinks, because it brings with it the fear of failing her.

She’s already failed her though really, hasn’t she? By messing everything up, and then flattening her with a heavy piece of furniture. Failure like that is hard to beat, and even harder to put right.

Villanelle’s eyes start to become unfocused, she rubs them, determined to see Eve through until she wakes. To make sure she’s okay. And that thought alone is strange really, because she can’t think of one other person she’s done this for. Not for Konstantin when he had a heart attack at the train station, not for Konstantin again when she shot him, and not even for Eve before when she shot her...

Leaving people to their own fate is a lot easier than this, she decides. This is hard, and worrying and stressful, and Villanelle doesn’t like any of those things.

“Villanelle?” Eve wakes with a stretch, frowning at Villanelle as she does so, probably noticing that she’s still wearing her suit from the day before. Though it’s rather creased and a lot less devastating now. Such a shame, Villanelle thinks. “Have you... were you just sitting there like that all night?”

Villanelle looks around at herself, she’s sitting in the middle of the bed, cross-legged, facing Eve.

“Uh, I think so yeah. Except when I had to pee.”

Eve gives a small nod, looking away from her then, like she doesn’t want to think about the implications of her sitting there all night for her, of what it could mean.

“Well, I’m still alive.” Eve eventually announces, sounding a touch relieved. 

“Mm, for now. Brain bleeds can be slow.”

Eve shoots her a disgusted look.

“Can you not?”

“I’m just being honest, Eve.”

Eve snorts at that, and Villanelle scowls and sticks out her tongue like a petulant child.

“Very mature.”

“Yeah. Well.”

There’s an uncomfortable lull and Eve puts her hands through her hair, like she’s suddenly conscious of its wildness, or perhaps just of herself in general, because she then says:

“Was I... did I say anything weird last night?”

Villanelle shakes her head.

“Nope. Just something about lemons and smushions, that’s all.”

“Lemons and... _what_?”

“Never mind.” Villanelle smiles to herself. 

“You...”

“What about me?”

“Last night, I thought...” Eve trails off, squinting like she’s trying to remember something that’s lodged very far back in her brain. “I don’t know. I had weird dreams, that’s all.”

“Ah.” Villanelle fiddles with the collar of her suit, feeling a bit hot and stifled in it now. Probably because she knows exactly what ‘weird dreams’ Eve is referring to. “I’m going to go and get changed, maybe take a bath. You’ll be alright?”

“Huh?” Eve queries, apparently still distracted by her forgotten dreams. And thank God they’re forgotten, Villanelle thinks. “Oh, right, yeah. You go. I’ll be fine.”

Eve gives her a convincing enough smile that Villanelle deems her safe to leave, telling her to yell if she needs anything and leaving the (now thoroughly washed and clean) wastepaper bin within easy reach. Just in case. 

As Villanelle slips into the bath she starts to think that maybe dropping the chaise lounge on Eve was a touch of divine intervention, because Eve seems a lot less angry with her since it happened.

She then wonders if she should be concerned about such an abrupt personality change in lieu of a recent head injury... technically two recent head injuries, if you count the bump on the doorframe. Hmm well, if getting bashed on the head makes Eve a happier and more forgiving person in the long run than so be it. Who is she to intervene?

She decides she will keep a close eye on her though, just in case.

_Just in case_. 

Villanelle mulls those words around in her head, she’d been doing a lot of _just in case_ since looking after Eve. A lot of... caring. And preventing. And protecting.

Villanelle screws up her face, deciding that _just in case_ is another unpleasant and exhausting thing to experience. Something she’d be quite glad to not experience again any time soon.

Eve will have to be more careful, Villanelle concludes, especially around architectural structures and pieces of furniture. Because if Eve is well and safe, and happy, then Villanelle won’t have to _just in case_ anymore. 

Won’t have to care. Or worry.

And that suits her just fine. Yes. She’d be just fine not having to care about Eve anymore.

Especially after what Eve said, or almost said about her. That she was _wrong_. Not in the moral right or wrong sense either, although Villanelle’s moral rightness is certainly questionable too... but she knows that wasn’t what Eve was referring to. No, she meant her darkness. Or her monster. Or the forest fire that burns deep inside of her, destroying everything that it touches.

I mean they’re all basically the same thing really, all bad, all _wrong_.

Villanelle sighs sadly to herself, because she doesn’t think she’s very much of any of those things. Not anymore. 

And you might think she’d be happy about that, that her forest fire is now a precarious little flame, that her darkness is a little more grey these days, or that her monster is missing a few teeth and claws, but she’s not. 

She’s not. 

Because without them what if she really is nothing?

A great big, empty **nothing**.

So, she reasons to herself that -

She can’t just let her fire die out.

She can’t just chase away her monster.

She can’t just get rid of all of her darkness. 

_Just in case_ _._

****

In the afternoon they have therapy with Margaret.

It's a weird session, mainly because Eve is still a bit concussed and Villanelle is grumpy, presumably because she hasn't slept in over 24 hours. It's also weird because Margaret has got them a bereavement card, signed by the whole group, mourning the sad and untimely loss of their imaginary dog Moustache.

"Are you sure you feel up to a session today?" Margaret asks for a second time, when both Eve and Villanelle have been sitting in their respective chairs for a full five minutes, not saying a word. "I know it must be a terribly emotional time for you both."

Eve sighs, looking down at the 'sorry your dog died' card that she holds somewhat awkwardly in her lap.

"No, it's okay. I think we probably need to talk a few things out."

"She wants to talk about the kissing." Villanelle mutters, slouching lower in her chair.

"What about it?" Margaret asks coolly, pen poised and at the ready. 

"Ask Kate."

"Kate?" Margaret follows up, not seeming at all phased by Villanelle's moody obstinance. 

Eve gives Villanelle an irritated glance.

"So, Veronica kissed me. It was... fine. But then, I found out that the only reason she did it, was because you told her to." 

"Ahh." Margaret nods, wearing her zero-expression therapy face. "And that was upsetting for you?"

"Yes! Obviously."

"Why was that then?"

Eve falters, caught off guard, and feeling very much like she's just wandered straight into a cleverly laid trap.

"Well, I, um, wanted it to be...more... _organic_ , I suppose."

"Organic?" Margaret hums. "Interesting choice of words, Kate. So, it was the fact that it was premeditated that you found so upsetting?"

"Yes." Eve clasps her hands together, pleased with the assessment.

"Mm. And have you always had issues around control, Kate?"

"Uhh, sorry?"

"Well, it seems to me that the fact Veronica took a bit of control, or responsibility if you will, for the direction of your relationship, upset you."

"That's not quite how it was..." 

Villanelle sits up a little straighter in her chair, gleefully watching their exchange, like she's at a tennis match.

"How was it then? In your own time and your own words, Kate."

Eve clears her throat, not sure whether to save her dignity by laying her heart on the line, or whether to just admit defeat and keep her mouth shut.

Fuck it, she thinks, she can always blame it on her concussion later.

"It upset me because I thought it was real. It upset me because I thought it was all coming from her.” Eve finds that once she starts talking she can’t stop, the words falling out with ease, like raindrops falling from an angry rain cloud. “She's so boxed up all the time. It's like she's built this fortress around her, and I can't get in? God, I've tried so hard to get in..." Eve trails off with a hollow, sad laugh. "And I thought she was finally letting me? So that's why I was upset. It wasn't about me wanting control... if anything, it was the opposite! I just... I want her to wake up and _do_ something, to _feel_ something! I want her to kiss me because she _wants_ to kiss me, because she can't _stop_ herself from kissing me... and not because you, or someone else, told her to do it."

The room is silent when she finishes, like all the air's been well and truly sucked out of it. Like they’re in a vacuum, utterly devoid of all life.

And Villanelle's just staring at the floor now, her expression blank and unreadable, and Eve feels an instant and sharp pang of regret. 

It was too much. It was way, way too much. 

What was she _thinking_?

"Thank you for that, Kate." Margaret finally acknowledges, once the deafening silence has become too much for even her to bear. "Let's leave it there for today then. I think you both need some time to let that marinate a bit, don't you?" 

They go straight back to their room, dragging the deadly silence with them like an unwanted guest. Eve puts Antiques Roadshow on the TV and elevates her sore ankle on one of her pillows, and then they both just sit there with their backs against the plush, velvet headboard, staring at the screen. 

Not one word or look is exchanged, and Eve finds it wholly unnerving. She wishes - not for the first time - that she could just get inside Villanelle’s head for a five minutes, so that she’d have a tiny glimpse at what she’s thinking. Maybe then she’d know the right thing to say to her, because as it stands she’s absolutely stumped.

It doesn’t take long for Villanelle to start falling asleep. Eve sees her head begin to nod, and then right itself, and then nod again. And she hears the heaviness in her breathing as she begins to slip towards unconsciousness, only for Villanelle to stop herself at the last minute, straightening back up, and stretching out her tired limbs.

“Just go to sleep.” Eve tells her, finding the whole performance somewhat frustrating. 

“What?”

“You’re falling asleep. You’ve been up all night, so just sleep. It’s fine.”

“Nope.” Villanelle folds her arms defiantly. “I’m awake. Wide awake, actually.”

Eve sighs at her.

“God, you’re frustrating.”

“I’ll sleep when I want to, not when you tell me to. That’s how you want me to be from now on, right?”

The atmosphere prickles, and Eve feels them heading very rapidly down another rabbit hole of regret and misery.

“Fine. You do that then.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

Eve lets them lapse into another brittle silence, and she forces herself to watch a bit more Antiques Roadshow, desperate for a distraction, any distraction...

And as it happens there’s a perfect distraction up next; a sad, middle-aged woman named Sue whose husband left her a few years ago, prompting her to start a collection of extortionately priced ceramic cats.

Ceramic cats... she spent over £2000 on ceramic cats...

Eve lets the tragedy of Sue’s reality seep in for a second. Like, really, really seep in.

Shit. She really doesn’t want to end up like crazy, ceramic cat lady Sue.

“Villanelle...”

“Mmm?”

Eve sighs, looking up at the high ceiling, searching the blank space for... something. The right words, maybe. If right words can even exist for them anymore. 

Can you be too far gone for right words? 

Eve certainly thinks it’s possible, because it seems like every word she says at the moment ends up twisted, or lost, or confused. They feel right, when they leave her, but something seems to happen to them before they reach Villanelle. Like the storm that came a few nights ago never really left them, and everything is still getting tossed around and damaged, and broken.

They’re so broken.

“Villanelle, I...” Another sigh, as she drags the words across her scratchy vocal cords, like even they’re starting to give up on her now. “Look, I’m sorry if I upset you. If what I said to Margaret upset you. But it was all true, I meant every word of it. I just want...” Eve clears her throat and swallows so hard it hurts. “I want us. All of us. The good, the bad... just, all of it. All of... you. If you want it. If you want me?”

Her voice quivers at the end, giving her away, but she still feels a strange sense of relief. Like she’s finally exonerated herself from everything that’s been weighing her down for... days, weeks, months? 

And Villanelle is still unnaturally silent. 

So silent she could be...

Eve leans over to look at her.

Asleep.

Seriously?!?!

Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so, cliché ending, I know, but the stars aligned and I had to run with it.
> 
> Will they ever catch a break!?!?
> 
> ALSO, bonus points if you can catch the Buffy reference... I'm thinking most people probably won't... but it was clearly engrained on my brain as I kept thinking 'I remember this from somewhere' when I was writing it. Hint: it's to do with Eve's head.


	12. You're a Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ummmmm...
> 
> Shit goes down.
> 
> Is that summary enough?

It’s pitch black when Villanelle wakes. The television has long been turned off, and she finds herself in a warm cocoon of blankets and Eve. From their sleepy, furled positions it’s hard to analyse who became wrapped in who first, or whether it was actually just some kind of mutual swaddling...

Villanelle cringes at herself, as she pulls tired limb from tired limb, easing herself away from the slumbering weight of Eve’s body. Praying not to wake her; hoping she sleeps on, in a permanent state of blissful ignorance.

Villanelle takes a pillow over to the chaise lounge and collapses onto it, trying to get comfortable. She realises in that moment that she hasn’t got a hope in hell of ever being comfortable on her own again, not now that she knows what true comfort feels like. And it’s not as simple as a plush mattress, or some one thousand thread count, Egyptian cotton sheets, it’s Eve. 

Ugh. She hates herself sometimes. Hates Eve sometimes too, for doing this to her. 

_You’re a mess_. _She’s making you weak_.

She is. She _still_ is. And Villanelle feels like a right mess, like a scribbled page in a kid’s colouring book, where the colours are all mismatched and bleeding outside the lines.

Yes, that’s exactly what she feels like.

It takes her ages to fall asleep again, and when she does her dreams drag her back to Russia. She sees her mother there, and Pyotr and Bor’ka. She hears the familiar chords of Crocodile Rock, and smells the saccharine smell of gasoline.

_I remember when rock was young..._

She smells the smoke, ash and fire too, and the pungent smell of burning flesh. It’s the sort of smell you never forget once you’ve smelled it, and Villanelle’s smelt it more times than anyone ever should.

And there’s flashes in her dreams now, of her botched kill in Romania. His flesh had burned too, the electrical fire making the smell a lot more acrid and less woody, but still pungent nonetheless.

_Laaa la la la laaa..._

_La la la laaa..._

Villanelle.

Wake up.

Wake up.

Villanelle.

Eve’s voice cuts right through the sights, and smells, and sounds, and all of a sudden she’s sitting bolt upright on the chaise lounge, covered in a sheen of sweat and... are they tears?

Villanelle puts her fingertips to her cheek, swiping roughly at the dampness she finds there. And Eve is leaning over her, her hand on the back of the chaise lounge, the room bathed in an eerie half-light as morning dutifully approaches.

“You were having a bad dream.” Eve says, her voice bathed in a softness and kindness that makes Villanelle’s skin feel tight and itchy. “About your mother?”

No. No, no, no. Not happening. Not now.

“I-I don’t think so.”

“You were saying her name...” Eve leans back now, taking her hand off the chaise lounge, still hunched over her but definitely further away. “Hey, you’re shaking?”

Villanelle finds herself stuck, completely helpless as Eve draws her arms around her. Rubbing the tops of her forearms like she's trying to warm her up, like she’s been left outside in the cold for too long. And Villanelle thinks she probably is freezing cold inside, that she probably has been left out for too long, cast out from her own flesh and blood.

New tears find their way out now, overflowing the well of feelings she’s created inside of her, the well that she carefully dug out to keep them all in. And Eve just pulls her in even closer while she cries, and rubs circles across her back.

Circle after circle, after circle.

“I killed her, Eve.” The words eventually pour out of her, caught in a bubble of sobs and strangled cries. “I killed her. I killed her. I killed her.”

Eve doesn’t offer anything other than the circles, which are getting stronger and bigger, sweeping across her whole back now.

“I can’t... I haven’t...” Villanelle finds the words dissolving on her tongue before she can speak them, her eyes squeezing closed in a futile attempt to keep the tears at bay. 

Her chest aches now, from the heaving sobs and the rawness of it all. 

“I can’t even kill...not properly anymore.” She rasps it out, holding her hands up, empty, trembling hands. “Not with, not with these...I don't _want_ to.”

And she cries all over again when she thinks of the train hitting Rhian, and of the dryer sparking on the Romanian politician’s head. They were half-kills, handsfree kills. Two last desperate attempts to cling onto what she used to be so very capable at, so very good at.

Even hitting Dasha with the golf club hadn’t felt like a true extension of her own hands, and it hadn’t killed her anyway. It had been Eve who had finished her off, and not with a weapon or a conveniently timed train, but with her very own foot.

“I think I’m... I think I might be nothing, Eve.”

The circles stop. 

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“Not to me.” Eve whispers. “You’re not nothing to me.”

****

Eve watches Villanelle getting ready for the day. Notes that she chooses all black, comfortable clothing, that she draws her hair back into a tight, slick bun, and that she takes a lot longer than normal to brush her teeth, seemingly lost in her own reflection. 

It’s chilling and fascinating to Eve that Villanelle can go from being an absolute, emotional car wreck, to bizarrely calm and poised in a matter of minutes. And she’s too calm obviously, Eve knows that, recognises that it’s like an over adjustment to compensate for her earlier collapse.

She smiles at Eve then, when she catches her looking. A small, tight smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but one that could be believable, if Eve didn’t know her so well. 

“Nearly done.” She says, adding a third blob of toothpaste to her brush. Like it’s the first time she’s performed that action this morning, like she hasn’t just been brushing her teeth for the last ten minutes already.

“Okay.” Eve nods, looking away now, not wanting to encroach any further on whatever cathartic ritual it is she’s carrying out. “Ooh, we’ve got mail.” Eve calls out, spotting the little white card that’s been slipped under their door.

It’s not embossed this time, but the writing is neat and loopy.

“Art therapy with Margaret.” Eve announces, as Villanelle sticks her head out the door, toothbrush still hanging from her mouth. “In the studio, after breakfast.”

Villanelle ducks back into the bathroom and Eve hears her spit and rinse before she re-emerges again, finally sans toothbrush.

“Art therapy _again_?” She groans, pulling a sour face. “I think Margaret’s running out of ideas to be honest.”

Eve laughs a little at that, enjoying seeing a little peek of Villanelle’s more regular self.

“We don’t have to go you know. If it’s too much after... ?” Eve leaves it there, as a cautious offering. 

Villanelle shrugs.

“Nah. We should go. It’ll be good for us.”

Good for us.

“Did you just say... _good for us_?” Eve checks with a tilt of her head. 

Villanelle laughs.

“Yes. Do you have a problem understanding my accent, or something? I can change it if you like.”

“Umm...” Eve’s eyes widen a little, and she feels some heat creeping onto her face. “No! No, I like your accent just fine. I mean, I like all your accents, a lot, but...”

“Yeah?" Villanelle smiles, and this smile definitely reaches her eyes, and makes Eve face even hotter. 

Okay, so car wreck Villanelle has now bypassed cool and calm Villanelle, and become flirty Villanelle, Eve assesses. She reminds herself, several times, that this is clearly all part of Villanelle's process, like the three rounds of oral hygiene, and therefore should definitely not be read into any further.

Or encouraged. At all.

No matter how much she really, really wants to.

"So, breakfast?"

Breakfast is nice, and particularly extra-nice after Eve's lone breakfast the day before. Today her coffee seems sweeter and her toast doesn't go cold or soggy, because Villanelle keeps snagging bites of it and reminding her that it's there. This, Eve decides, is definitely the way breakfast should be everyday.

Villanelle seems surprisingly upbeat too, eating pancakes and berries with her fingers, carelessly staining her skin red and purple.

Eve feels, for perhaps the first time since arriving at Wisteria Manor, cautiously optimistic.

"Villanelle..."

"Eve." She replies, biting another strawberry down to its stalk.

"Did you err, see that woman on the tele last night with the huge, ceramic cat collection?"

Villanelle's eyes go wide.

"NO. But she sounds _amazing_. Tell me about her."

"Alright, so, her name was Sue, and she was a bit older than me, I think. Her husband left her, so she started collecting ceramic cats. I mean, really collecting. She spent thousands on them! She had over 200 in the end, but eventually she ran out of room to store them, right? So, do you know what she did? She moved house, and gave the cats their _own bedroom!_ A whole bedroom, full of ceramic cats. And, they all had names."

"Hm. I wonder why she chose cats." Villanelle pulls a face. "I don't like cats. I think I might be allergic, actually."

"That's it? That's all you have to say?"

"Well, what did you want me to say? Poor Sue?"

"Yes! Poor Sue. And I don't want that, I don't want to be Sue."

"No one wants to be Sue, Eve. Not even Sue wants to be Sue." Villanelle remarks as she pops a blueberry into her mouth.

"Exactly! So, I was thinking that if Sue and her husband had talked about their feelings a bit more, then maybe that wouldn't have happened. Maybe Sue wouldn't have 200 cats in the spare bedroom, you know?"

Villanelle leans back in her chair and raises her eyebrows.

"Eve, do you ever think that all this therapy stuff might not actually be so good for you?" 

Eve sighs in frustration, determined to plough on.

"Last night, before I realised you were completely unconscious, I gave you a whole speech about my... _feelings_."

And shit, I'm really doing this, Eve thinks.

"Okay..." Villanelle shifts in her seat. "Your _feelings_ about Sue and her cats, or?"

"No. Not about Sue. About **you**."

"Oh..."

"Yeah."

"Well, you really wasted your time on that one because I didn't hear any of it..."

"I know! And that's what I'm trying to say." Eve takes a sharp, propelling breath. "I want a do-over. Tonight."

Villanelle picks up another blueberry and squashes it between her fingers before eating it.

"Okay." She shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

" _Really_?"

"Yes, Eve. _Really_. And I promise not to fall asleep this time.”

**** 

They arrive at the art studio to find it empty. Eve double checks the time on her watch, while Villanelle childishly celebrates the fact they get the first pick of seats.

"I want to sit here, right near the front!"

"Yeah, fine." Eve mumbles back, a distracted frown marring her typically soft features. It seems strange, she thinks, that no one else has arrived yet, because Margaret's workshops are always packed out to the rafters, with some of her most hardcore followers arriving up to twenty minutes early. "Doesn't this seem a bit weird to you?"

"Weird how? Ooooh, do you think we get to use the pottery wheel today? I've always wanted to take one for a spin.”

“Weird like, where is everyone else, and why is Margaret’s suddenly taking art therapy? What happened to Bernadette?”

Villanelle laughs.

“You are _so_ paranoid, Eve. It’s probably all that coffee you drink.”

The doors behind them suddenly burst open, revealing the Twelve-y looking couple that Eve had spotted in the dining hall a few days ago. 

Well, shit.

The female of the two brazenly pulls out a gun, apparently none too concerned about being in the middle of a potentially crowded retreat. 

Eve frantically looks past them to the long hallway, searching for some passerby who might be able to raise the alarm and call for help. But there’s no one to be seen, not even Jane, who always seems to be present at the most inconvenient of times.

Typical.

“Eve! Get down!” Villanelle is dragging her to the floor mere seconds before the first shot is fired.

The gun has a silencer on, so the only sound is the shattering of pottery, as the bullet ricochets off some poor couple’s lovingly crafted clay vase.

“Fuck.” Villanelle swears, as they crawl on their hands and knees, trying to get as far away from their assailants as possible, and eventually taking cover behind the tutor’s main workbench.

“What do we do?!” Eve can barely hear her own voice over her beating heart. “Villanelle?!”

Villanelle’s eyes are wild, roaming around the workbenches in-built shelves. She grabs a navy blue apron, with a large pocket on the front and starts to tie it around her waist.

“Get me anything that I can use as weapon!”

“Okay...”

Eve shakily starts to pull items from the shelves, searching for anything remotely sharp or pointed, while Villanelle risks sticking her head out above the unit, to assess their position.

“Hurry! We don’t have much time, they’re barricading the door.”

“Here.” Eve holds out her findings and Villanelle’s face darkens.

“Really, Eve? A paintbrush and a palette knife?”

Eve shrugs meekly.

“We’re in an art studio?”

Villanelle groans.

“Hand me one of those cans.”

Eve reaches for an aerosol can from the shelf to her right, pausing briefly to scan the label before passing it to Villanelle.

“Gold glitter spray?”

“Do you want to get your head blown off or something? Just give it to me.”

“You can’t take both of them on, it’ll be two against one?” Eve whispers, as Villanelle slips a few more tools into her apron pocket.

“It’ll be two against me, I’ll be fine. And anyway, I don’t think he’s armed.” Villanelle looks up at her then, wetting her lips. “But listen, if you see it start to go wrong, don’t be a hero. Just take one of those stools, smash that big window and get out of here, okay?”

“Why can’t we do that now? Both of us?” 

“No time.”

And with that she slips out from behind the counter, her body low to the ground, armed with the can of gold glitter spray. 

Shit.

****

It’s been a while. 

That’s the main thought that buzzes round Villanelle’s head. It’s been a while since she’s been shot at, it‘s been a while since she’s been in true fight or flight mode and it’s been a while since she really thought about how she was going to kill someone.

With glitter spray.

Fuck. They’re so fucked, she thinks.

“Hélène sends her love, Villanelle.” The female calls out, her footsteps sounding precariously close as Villanelle snakes towards her through the rows and rows of workbenches.

Hélène, ugh. She’d almost forgotten about her.

Villanelle pauses where she is, focuses in on the sound of the woman’s shoes, thinks fleetingly that they sound really ugly and scuff-y, like Birkenstocks, and then takes a deep, steadying breath.

This is it.

Villanelle yells out at the top of her lungs as she springs up from behind the counter, rushing towards Birkenstock woman. She presses her finger onto the button of the canister, releasing a fog of glitter spray into the air between them, aiming straight for the woman’s eyes.

It’s a direct hit, and it’s a glorious sight, effectively blinding someone with a mask of shimmering gold.

The woman screams as the noxious combination of aerosol spray and glitter shards burn and scrape into her sclera and corneas. Her aim is all over the place now, but she fires a shot anyway. 

The bullet misses Villanelle’s head by a mile, but catches her left arm as it flies past, ripping a deep, ragged path through her bare skin.

“Fuck!” Villanelle shouts now, clamping her palm over the fresh wound, which can only be a few centimetres higher than her old scissor injury, feels the heat and wetness seeping out. “Ughhhh, I’d _just_ fixed that arm!” 

But there isn’t time to mourn.

Villanelle knocks the gun from the now blinded woman’s hands and elbows her hard in the face, breaking her nose. The woman drops to her knees, still screaming, hands clawing at her searing eyeballs.

And then Villanelle’s being grabbed from behind, by this huge guy, the other half of the Twelve-y couple, and he must be over six feet tall and packing so much muscle most doorframes must be a squeeze.

And Villanelle quickly realises that’s why he doesn’t have a gun - because he isn’t likely to need one.

He hurls her across the room like she’s a rag doll, sends her flying into some hard oak shelves. Villanelle hits them with such force that she almost gets knocked out on impact, but she thinks of Eve, and fuck, she can’t let anything happen to Eve.

So she gets back on her feet, fast, ignoring the dizzying spin of her head, reaches into her apron and pulls out a... tube of oil paint? Fuck. She discards it over her shoulder and rummages in her pocket again, this time pulling out a palette knife. 

A rounded palette knife.

For fuck’s sake.

Villanelle throws herself back into the fray anyway, gets in a few good hits to the guys face, and slams a kick into his knee that almost causes him to stumble. But he’s like the hulk, she’s pretty sure, and hand to hand combat isn’t going to cut it.

She needs the gun.

He wipes the floor with her again, backhanding her square across the jaw and sending her crashing into a workbench. She winds herself, hitting it side on with her abdomen and chest, feels her ribs throb and crack in protest.

“You are losing your touch, Villanelle.”

And he’s Russian. How did she miss a six foot, muscular Russian just hanging around the place? 

She clearly is way off her game.

He’s on her again, peeling her off the counter and hitting her some more, her chest, stomach, anywhere his fists happens to land. And they land plenty.

She can taste metal now, blood, spits it in his face, and he snarls before hitting and kicking her over and over, until she’s down and writhing on the floor.

“Hey!” 

Eve’s voice, loud and only a little shaky, interrupts their brawl. Although brawl may be a bit of generous term, as it’s pretty one-sided and Villanelle’s basically just getting her ass handed to her.

The Russian hulk laughs as he turns towards Eve, Eve who has picked the gun up off the floor and is now aiming it directly at him.

Thank God, Villanelle thinks, thank God...

And she doesn’t have it in her to tell Eve to shoot him, and thankfully doesn’t have to.

Eve fires the round with minimal hesitation, her eyes unblinking, like she’s done it a million times before.

Only she hasn’t.

And the bullet lodges somewhere high up in the guy’s ridiculously huge arms.

“The shoulder? _Again_ , Eve?!” Villanelle cries out, dragging herself to her feet. “ _Really_?!”

Eve fires again and again, and again, hitting the guy’s arms and upper chest, and somehow hitting some bottles of acrylic paint on the shelf behind him too, and they explode in a rainbow of colours, until suddenly there’s no more bullets left.

And this guy is still going, lumbering his way towards Eve. Why does he not just die already?

Eve. 

Eve. 

Eve.

Villanelle lurches after him, yells out something in Russian, something even she doesn’t really hear. And she’s upon him in the blink of an eye, before he’s had a chance register her presence. 

She draws the palette knife up at an angle, her body working on autopilot, falling back on her years and years of brutal training, as she bashes it upwards, towards his brain with the heel of her other, trembling hand. Hears the sickening burst of flesh, feels the prang of bone on blade as she catches it on what must be the edge of his skull. Knows she made it through to white matter when he drops like a stone to the floor. 

Villanelle feels suddenly sick, like she might pass out, and finds herself grabbing onto the workbench for support, legs shaking.

“What about her?” She asks quickly, referring to Birkenstock lady, trying to keep her thoughts together, hoping she isn’t going to have to kill her now too. Not sure if she actually can.

“All taken care of.“ Eve assures calmly. “I shot her in the head.”

“Good. That’s... good.”

Villanelle’s heavy pants fill the room. The room they’ve destroyed. The walls are spattered in bullet holes, blood and paint, and two dead bodies lay slain on the hardwood floor.

Everything spins again.

“What a mess.” Eve says matter of factly, as she looks around. 

“Some might call it art.” Villanelle replies dryly, sinking a little lower onto the counter. Her throat reflexively swallowing down more blood, and she tries very hard not to gag. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I apologise as I did say in the comments I was going to post this sooner, and then life got in the way. A family quiz on Zoom, to be exact. I am also posting this in a bad mood, as I wanted to do it about 2 hours ago, but a friend called me for a catch up ... and it is SO hot here that I'm literally sweltering. I really hate being too hot. And I'm starting to rant now. I'll stop.
> 
> Back to the important stuff...
> 
> So, a lot has just happened! I hope the fight scene was okay, I wanted to keep true to this story and throw some humour in there. I also feel like I've really laid into Villanelle in this fic... but that's honestly kind of my thing... as I do love the hurt/comfort/vulnerable stuff, so I hope you do too!! Otherwise you might be regretting getting into it haha. 
> 
> As always love to hear what you think and feel free to throw out any ideas you have going forward.


	13. Natural Disasters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary - it's a very big chapter full of... leaving Wisteria Manor.

“Can you even walk?”

It’s a fair question.

Villanelle spits more blood onto the floor before lowering her forehead onto the wooden worktop, her whole body screaming out now that the adrenaline of the fight is beginning to ease off. 

“I’ll walk.” Villanelle replies, pressing a hand to her arm again, the bleeding already beginning to slow. “Get that first aid kit from over there, we’re going to need it.”

Eve dutifully goes to retrieve the little green box from the wall, while Villanelle blinks against the threat unconsciousness. She realises she’s in a bad way, a _really_ bad way, and that it’s probably going to limit the distance they can travel before tonight.

“Now what?” Eve asks, all big eyes and fidgety limbs. “Should we go back to our room and grab our stuff?”

“No!” Villanelle shuts her down with a hiss. “We need to leave right now! There could be others, and...” 

They both look down at the two dead bodies.

“Right, yes, of course...”

Villanelle eases herself upright, using the workbenches for support, sees and remembers the barricaded doors in front of them that were intended to keep them shut in.

“Help me get these doors open.”

They work quickly together to pull down the pile of stools and units, and several small bookcases. Eve takes most of the strain, and Villanelle tries not to let on how much she’s struggling as fresh sweat begins to bead on her brow.

“A souvenir.” Villanelle advises, as she grabs a copy of Margaret’s book from one of the bookcases, tucking it into her apron. 

And then they’re out of there, with Villanelle looking like a walking murder scene, and Eve carrying the bright green first aid kit like it’s a small suitcase and she’s off on her holidays.

They leave the confines of Wisteria Manor through a fire escape at the back, and Villanelle pulls the fire alarm just before they leave, to make sure that everyone else is too busy with their own frantic evacuation to notice their quiet departure.

Once they’re out of the main building the rest is easy. They squeeze through a gap in a small hedgerow and find themselves surrounded by miles and miles of open woodland and countryside - and it’s the perfect place to get lost in.

They walk then, for as long as their legs can carry them. Stopping only briefly for a moment, so that Eve can apply a hasty, temporary dressing to Villanelle’s oozing arm. There simply isn’t time to deal with the rest of her injuries, and Villanelle dismisses all Eve’s attempts to try.

She doesn’t know how she keeps going to be honest. Her breathing comes in tight wheezes, curtesy of her presumably broken ribs, and she feels like she’s been hit by a train. Scraps that analogy, when she remembers Rhian, and decides to downgrade to a bus. A double decker though, for sure.

They reach a particularly dense bit of woodland, her feet growing so heavy now that they start to catch on the tree roots, which run like veins over the dusty ground. She stumbles a few times, leans against a few trees, and tries to ignore Eve’s gasps and mews of sympathy.

“We can stop now.” Eve tells her for the hundredth time. “Just while you catch your breath?”

It’s tempting. Very, very tempting.

But the reality is that they have no belongings and nowhere to stay. And The Twelve are after them, and they’ve just left two dead bodies on the art room floor. And if she stops then she’s not sure she can start again.

“Keep walking.” She replies, pushing off from another tree and digging deep for a few more reserves.

They pass through a clearing next, and Villanelle finally spots their salvation in the distance. 

She doesn’t say anything to Eve, not at first. Let’s her walk on a bit further, and then...

“Wait for me here, under that big oak tree. I’ll be back.”

Eve looks at her like she’s absolutely insane, but Villanelle is already walking away in the opposite direction.

“Villanelle? Where are you going?” 

“Just wait here. I won’t be long.”

Eve throws her hands up in the air, exasperated.

“You can barely stand! Villanelle? _Villanelle_!?” Eve’s voice fades the further away she gets, but somehow seems to catch on the wind just long enough for her to make out a final: “Just don’t do anything stupid!”

****

Eve waits, waits so long that the sun begins to dip in the sky, making the clouds go a sort of purple-y orange. It reminds her of the paint and blood that was spilled on the art studio floor, and how they’d mixed like oil and water. Pretty, in a wholly inappropriate and macabre sort of way. 

But then Eve does enjoy the macabre. 

She rubs absentmindedly at the nagging soreness in her ankle, then checks her watch and sighs. Wondering how much longer she should give her to come back, wondering whether she’s even coming back at all...

No. She shakes her head at that, banishes the thought, because of course she’s coming back. And of course she wouldn’t just leave her here.

A cool breeze lifts her hair from her shoulders, and she wraps her arms around herself, wishing she’d worn more than just a thin t-shirt this morning. But then she didn’t know they’d end up out here, presumably for... well, God knows for how long.

That thought sinks in, like a knife in her belly. And Eve realises for the first time that there’s definitely no going back now, and that there’s not really a clear way of going forward either.

They’re literally on the run and all alone.

She shivers again, lifting her head to squint at the horizon and... thank God... finally sees Villanelle in the distance, loaded up with several large bags and now wearing a slightly baggy black anorak.

Eve stands, moving quickly to greet her, thinks how battered, exhausted and beautiful she looks, staggering against the bruised skyline.

“Hey.” They both say at the same time, exchanging looks of unspoken relief.

“Where have you been? Where did you get all this this stuff?” Eve can’t stop the question from blurting out, and Villanelle looks even more weary for hearing them.

“A few miles that way.” Is her nondescript answer as she drops the bags at her feet. “And a lovely young couple, called Stuart and Megan.”

Eve looks down at the stuff, it’s rucksacks and camping gear, decent looking camping gear.

She looks back at Villanelle.

“Did you...?”

“Did I...?”

Eve rolls her eyes.

“Did you kill them?”

“No, Eve!” Villanelle replies with an air of annoyance, easing herself onto the ground and using one of the rucksacks to prop herself up. “I’m reformed now. Remember?” 

Eve folds her arms, unconvinced.

“So.”

“So what?”

“So, what happened to them?”

“Oh.” Villanelle unscrews the cap on a water bottle that’s hanging around her neck, previously obscured by what was once Stuart or Megan’s anorak, and takes a long swig. “Temporarily incapacitated by a fallen tree branch.”

“A fallen tree branch?” Eve repeats, and Villanelle nods sincerely. “You realise mimicking natural disasters and bashing people over the head doesn’t constitute reform, right?”

“It does for me.”

Villanelle takes another swig of water, and Eve can’t help but notice her shaking hands and suddenly pale face. She looks absolutely wrecked.

“What are we going to do now?” 

“Keep going.” Villanelle says quietly.

“You can’t? Villanelle. Let’s just stay here tonight?”

Villanelle shakes her head stubbornly.

“It’s too close. I followed them for a long time before... to put some distance between us, but it’s still too close.”

“We don’t have to put the tent up? We could just bed down here with the sleeping bags?” Eve pauses, can see Villanelle’s right on the edge of giving in but not persuaded just yet. “We can leave early, before sunrise. No one’s going to be looking for a tent thief in the middle of the night, are they? Come on, we’ve been walking for hours.”

“Hmmmm.” Villanelle grumbles, rubbing tiredly at her face. “I do really hurt, like, a lot.”

“So, let me patch you up, hm? And then we can start over tomorrow.”

Villanelle visibly sags, and Eve thinks for a moment she’s going to pass out.

“Okay. But, not here. It’s too open.”

They pick up the stolen camping gear, slinging it over their shoulders, and Eve sees that Villanelle‘s wincing now with even the smallest movement, like it hurts to just to be. 

“Up here.” She gestures to a steep hill, shrouded in a canopy of thick trees. 

The ground is loose underfoot and they both struggle to get enough traction in their flat footwear. Eve makes a conscious decision to fall behind Villanelle, even though the slower pace seems to make her ascent ten times harder and puts even more pressure on her ankle.

She watches cautiously as Villanelle weaves in and out, listens to the rasp of her heavy breathing, doubts several times whether she’s actually going to make it, and then worries what state she’ll be in if she does.

When Villanelle finally reaches the top she collapses and starts to vomit back the water and old blood she’s swallowed, coughing and spluttering, and then crying out and clutching her rib cage. 

Eve drops everything to kneel behind her. She eases the rucksack from her shoulders, pulls the water bottle from around her neck and draws back her hair, which has long since fallen from its bun. Her blonde tresses feel noticeably damp, wringing with sweat, and the ends are a balayage of red and pink from her earlier fight. 

Villanelle gags and coughs again but nothing comes up this time, because she truly is empty in every respect. 

“You can be very stupid sometimes.” Eve tells her in a soft voice, still holding back her hair. Because honestly, who else would walk for miles and climb a hill in this state? “Very, very stupid.”

Villanelle grunts in response.

“Is this you telling me how you feel about me? Because it went a lot nicer in my head.”

“Ssh.” Eve silences, wishing she’d just rest for a few minutes and stop with all the wisecracks and bravado. 

And Villanelle seems to submit, for the moment at least, by suddenly leaning into Eve and pressing her back to her chest.

“I think I got my ass kicked.”

“Yes. You really did.”

“Sucks.”

“It does.”

Eve draws a long, slow breath, relaxing into this rare, shared moment of stillness. She releases Villanelle’s hair, letting it fall back around her face, and Villanelle lifts her head in response, tilting it back just far enough that it grazes Eve’s shoulder.

It’s so peaceful that Eve thinks she could almost forget everything that’s just happened, everything that’s led them here...

“Do you think they’ve found Shooty and the Beast yet?” 

“Shooty and the...” Eve laughs far too loudly. “You’re awful.”

“Well, we don’t know their names.”

“They’ll forever be the Twelve-y looking couple to me.”

“Mm.” Villanelle shifts against her. “Should have listened to you about that.”

“Eh, well.” Eve shrugs it off, looking up at the darkening sky and sighing. “We should probably take a look at your injuries, before it gets too dark.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Villanelle reluctantly picks her head up, sitting forward with a grimace as she immediately starts to pull off her anorak, in a manner that suggests she knows this whole routine inside and out. 

And Eve feels sad, sad that their stillness has been broken, and sad to think that Villanelle has likely been hurt like this so many times before.

“You gonna get the first aid kit, or?”

“Err, yes. Right.”

Eve forces herself to focus, to get up and grab the first aid box from her pile of stuff. The night is rapidly closing in now, and despite their good intentions light is fast becoming an issue.

Eve digs through the rucksack, which contains a mixture of clothes and various other supplies. Pulls out a man’s sweatshirt and slips it over her head - thank you, Stuart - and then continues her rummaging until she finds a flashlight.

“Okay then, let’s do this.”

****

Villanelle sits perfectly still while Eve cycles through the flashlight settings, getting momentarily stuck on strobe.

“Sorry. Let me just-” There’s some more fiddling and Villanelle resists the urge to sigh, mainly because every breath is painful, but also because she’s aware that Eve is only doing her best, and therefore deserves a certain a degree of patience. Unfortunately though, patience has never been Villanelle’s strong suit. “There.” Eve finally gets the torch on the right setting and spins the beam around onto Villanelle’s face.

“Hey, not in my eyes!”

“Oh, sorry.” Eve hastily lowers it again, illuminating Villanelle’s chest for several, long and awkward seconds, before she directs it towards a safe spot on the ground. “Err... maybe you should hold the torch and I’ll just...”

“Fine.” Villanelle says, taking the torch and repeating the word _patience_ to herself like a silent mantra.

“Okay then, so I’m going to...” Eve reaches two hesitant hands towards the hem of Villanelle’s shirt, and then pulls back again at the last second. “Is there anywhere in particular you want me to start, or...?”

“You’re the one who wants to play medicine woman in the woods, Eve.“ Villanelle grumbles, and then seeing her slightly hurt face adds: “Just, clean any cuts you find and dress what you can.”

“Okay.”

Eve lifts the hem of Villanelle‘s shirt, peeking under it like she’s expecting something to jump out at her.

“Oh...” Eve pulls a face 

“Never play poker, Eve.” 

“Huh? Oh right, sorry. It’s just... it’s a bit of a mess under here.”

“No shit.” 

Eve fixes her with a brief frown before pulling her hand, which is holding the torch, a little closer.

“You’re literally black and blue... and where did all this blood come from?”

“I’ve no idea.” Villanelle tips her head back now, trying to ignore Eve’s hesitant prods and pokes to her already tender skin and ribs. “Ow...”

“Hmm...”

Eve pushes on the same spot again, a bit harder this time.

“OW! Eve! What are you doing?!”

“I don’t know?”

“You don’t know?” Villanelle utters in disbelief, breathing out slowly through her nose. “Just use gentle hands, Eve. _Gentle_.”

“Okay, okay.” Eve resumes her searching and Villanelle closes her eyes, trying to enjoy Eve’s clumsy touches as much as she can, given the rather painful circumstances. 

“Hey, Eve.” She grins suddenly and cracks open one eye.

“Mm?”

“Would it help if I called you Dr. Shaw?” 

Eve glares at her.

“NO.”

“Alright. Worth a try.”

Eve leans in closer, her hand reaching around Villanelle’s left side, fingers walking over bruised skin, skimming up to her bra line, searching for any nicks or breaks. 

“I think I found it.” Eve declares suddenly, pulling the flashlight round, her fingertips still nudging at Villanelle’s skin. “Yeah, there’s a gash right here, across your ribs. Looks quite deep.” Eve looks up when Villanelle doesn’t answer. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Feeling queasy again?”

“A little, yeah.”

Villanelle hasn’t stopped feeling queasy actually, but that isn’t what’s bothering her; what’s bothering her is having Eve being so close and attentive. 

Eve cleans the wound as best she can, coating it in a layer of antiseptic cream before covering it with a dressing. She does the same for the bullet wound on Villanelle’s arm, which they’d only covered quickly earlier, and then proceeds to rub antiseptic cream into a few minor scrapes that she finds on Villanelle’s back, lower arms and face.

Eve spends a particularly long time time on Villanelle’s face, wincing right along with her as she dabs on splotches of the sting-y cream.

“One or two?” Villanelle asks softly.

“Hmm?” 

“Black eyes?”

“Oh, two.”

“Ugh.”

Villanelle pouts.

“You have a bit of an egg on your head too, right here...” Eve touches her temple lightly and Villanelle sucks in a sharp breath. 

“That hurts, Eve! Don’t touch it!”

“Sorry...“

Villanelle drops her chin to her chest, feeling woozy again, possibly from Eve poking at the contusion on her head, or because she’s pushed herself too hard today, or maybe due to lack of food and drink.

Or all of the above, really.

“Here.” Eve offers her the water bottle, as though reading her mind. “Just take small sips and I’ll see if there’s anything to eat in these bags.”

****

Fortunately one of the rucksacks is almost entirely full of food. There’s some canned goods, which ideally would benefit from being warmed on a fire that they do not have, but there’s also plenty of cupboard stores. They opt for bread rolls with peanut butter and cereal bars, although Eve notes that Villanelle’s appetite seems low, and she only picks at her roll, turning the cereal bar down altogether.

Eve finds a relatively flat area for their sleeping bags and lays them out side by side, hesitating a little at how close to put them, but then they’re alone, in the woods and there’s safety in... being close, right? 

Right.

If Villanelle thinks anything about their sleeping bags pretty much touching she doesn’t say anything, but then Eve isn’t sure she’d say anything if a bomb went off at the moment. Her spark seems to have fizzled out in the past hour, all humour and stoicism gone.

Despite the fact they haven’t showered and that changing clothes therefore feels a little bit pointless, Eve passes Villanelle some of Megan’s pyjamas to put on. Villanelle takes them without a word, a flicker of something crossing her face.

“I know.” Is all Eve says in response, because they’re Winnie the Pooh, and Villanelle has only just managed to rid herself of Olaf.

Eve takes the other pair of Winnie the Pooh pyjamas for herself, so that at least Villanelle isn’t alone in her suffering. She then undresses quickly, feeling unreasonably shy, because apart from the beam of their torch, which is currently propped up near their sleeping bags, it’s pitch black out here.

“Uh, Eve?” Villanelle clears her throat, apparently feeling a little awkward too. “Could you...”

Eve turns to her and almost chokes on air, making an embarrassing sort of strangled sound in the back of her throat, because Villanelle is standing there, illuminated by torchlight, in just the Winnie the Pooh pyjama bottoms and her scarlet red bra. 

Eve eyes drop to her chest automatically, taking in the fullness of her breasts, framed by the black lace embroidery of her bra, and the black-blue marble of her bruised skin. 

“Eve?” Villanelle repeats again, and Eve pulls her vision back to her face. “Can you undo the clasp? It hurts too much.”

Oh. Ohhh. 

Eve swallows and nods, berating herself for being such an absolute pervert about the whole thing when Villanelle is clearly in so much pain.

God, I should be ashamed of myself, she thinks.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Eve feels like she’s moving through treacle as she walks towards Villanelle, slotting herself behind her, conscious that her every exhale is landing against the bare skin of her back. She swears she sees Villanelle shiver, but that could just be from the cold to be fair. 

Eve slides her fingers under the back strap of the bra, allows herself to feel the silky, no doubt expensive material, and then releases the clasp with a swift click. Villanelle pitches forward with a half-cry, smothering most of it down with the palm of her hand, as the pressure is finally released from her wounded ribcage.

Eve watches helplessly as Villanelle struggles to regulate her breathing, her breaths coming in deep, and obviously painful, gasps now that her ribs can fully expand again.

“Fuck.” She curses, dropping to her knees now, onto her sleeping bag, one hand still holding her loose bra to her chest, the straps slipping from her shoulders. 

Eve feels awkward just standing there, watching, so picks up the pyjama top with Eeyore’s glumly smiling face on.

“Here, put this on. It’s cold.”

Villanelle continues to struggle with her breathing, but responds cooperatively enough to allow Eve to slip her into the t-shirt, removing her own bra from underneath it as she does so. 

“I can’t lie flat.” Villanelle tells her then, still tripoding on her knees in an effort to breathe. 

“Okay, well let’s move the sleeping bags up there a bit and then you can sleep against that tree.”

Villanelle nods but makes no actual effort to move. She then looks down and shakes her head.

“I think... I think I’m done. Sorry.”

Eve regards her uncertainly.

“Done?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I can’t bring the tree to you, so...” Eve points out, with a little smile, but Villanelle doesn’t return it.

“I think you should carry on without me tomorrow. You’ll do better on your own.”

“ _What_?”

“It makes sense, Eve. Don’t pretend it doesn’t.”

“But it doesn’t make sense? It makes zero sense, at all! I’m not just leaving you out here by yourself like this?”

Villanelle rolls her eyes at that, makes a small, scoffing sound.

“Like this? Right. But otherwise, you would.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

They lock eyes, both searching the other’s expression in the darkness, looking for answers to questions that don’t even exist for them yet.

“On the bridge, you said you wanted it over. You said you didn’t want this anymore. Remember?”

“Oh my God, Villanelle! You seriously want to do this now?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe.”

Eve sighs heavily, takes in the blonde’s weary, pale features and lank hair, thinks how shit and weak she must feel right now. How she’s spent this whole day being so stubbornly strong, and probably her whole life being stubbornly strong, in fact.

“Villanelle.” Another sigh. “I am not leaving you. Not tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. Not next week, or next month... I turned around on the bridge because I wanted to stay, and I _still_ _want_ to stay.”

Villanelle stares at her for a bit longer, her hazel eyes blinking heavily but not shifting in their gaze. She nods, finally, and pushes herself to stand, picking up her sleeping bag.

“Where are you going now?”

“To that tree over there, like you said.” She hesitates for a moment and then asks: “You coming?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. Thank you all for your feedback on the last chapter, I'm so sorry I haven't replied yet... I've been working and solo parenting, and my little angel decided not to nap yesterday :( very sad all round.
> 
> Anyway, by way of apology here is another chapter for you! I actually almost made a mistake and posted the first part of the next chapter too... but I caught it at the last minute, sorry!
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this bit, I hope it's good to read too and that you aren't too upset about them leaving Wisteria Manor. I think I have the main idea as to where we're going, and I still have a lot I want to write... so who knows how many chapters this thing will be in the end.
> 
> Villanelle just deserves a nod for her awesome walking and stealing of camping equipment even though she's half-dead. 
> 
> Eve deserves a nod for being the worst but most-try hard first aider.
> 
> And finally, I'm SO sorry for all the throwing up that has taken place in this fic. It hasn't been intentional, but swallowing blood, overexerting yourself and hitting your head is going to make most people hurl... that's it now though. Hopefully.
> 
> Hope the slow burn isn't too slow............ until next time.


	14. Obsesión

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lottttt of dialogue.
> 
> And it's LONG.
> 
> Really long.
> 
> Get a drink. And a snack or two for this one.

Despite her exhaustion, Villanelle can’t sleep. She’s heard of people talk about being too tired to sleep before, but it’s not something she’s really experienced herself until recently. Probably because sleep used to just to an off switch she could hit whenever she wanted to, because when you don’t have pesky emotions like remorse, or fear or sadness, sleep is generally not hard to come by, no matter how tired or not-tired you might be.

  
  


But, when your back is pressed against the rough trunk of a tree, and your ribs and head hurt, and your emotions are all mixed up and confusing, it’s really, really hard to sleep.

  
  


And Eve can’t seem to sleep either. Villanelle can tell because she keeps turning over in her rustle-y sleeping bag and letting out the occasional sigh. Villanelle expects that she must be full of annoying sleep-eating emotions too.

  
  


“Are you thinking about it?” Villanelle asks quietly, her ribs protesting as she tilts herself a little in Eve’s direction.

  
  


“Hmm?” Eve rolls over again, presumably to face her, but it’s too dark to tell. “About what?”

  
  


“About what we did today.”

  
  


What we did. It sounds nice, Villanelle thinks fleetingly, especially when taken out of context.

  
  


“Err, which bit?”

  
  


That’s a fair question, a lot has happened.

  
  


“Killing the Twelve-y couple.”

  
  


“Ah.” Eve replies, rustling in her sleeping bag again and then turning on the torch. She draws herself up into a sitting position, joining Villanelle against the trunk of the tree. “Kind of, I guess.”

  
  


“Me too, kind of.” Villanelle looks at her, suddenly curious. “How did it make you feel?”

  
  


“It made me feel...” Eve looks off, up to the pitch black sky. “Like I wanted to eat a massive bag of pick and mix.”

  
  


“Huh. That’s... not what I was expecting.”

  
  


Eve glances back at her now, with a funny expression on her face.

  
  


“That’s what I did. After I stabbed you.”

  
  


“You ate pick and mix after you stabbed me?” Villanelle queries, raising an eyebrow.

  
  


“Yes. A _lot_ of pick and mix. I mean, it cost me nearly £25.”

  
  


“That is a hell of a lot, Eve.” Villanelle considers.

  
  


“Mm. And now, whenever I... I want pick and mix.”

  
  


Villanelle nods, understanding this, how the adrenaline after comes in an addictive rush, and how the things you do straight after kind of get mingled in with it, making you crave that same combination again and again.

  
  


“Champagne and sex.” Villanelle supplies then. “For me, after.”

  
  


Eve eyes widen at that.

  
  


“That explains all the champagne bottles then...”

  
  


“And sometimes I just masturbate. You know, if I’m alone.”

  
  


“Yes... I’ve got it. Thank you.”

  
  


The conversation stalls there, and they both look awkwardly into the darkness.

  
  


“So, you’re okay then, after killing that guy?” Eve asks suddenly. “Because you said you couldn’t do it anymore, but then you did, and...” She exhales softly, frowning. “I just never know what to think. I mean I believe you, because I think I can tell when you’re lying, but I don’t know if I... _get it_.”

  
  


“I don’t know if I get it either.” Villanelle mutters back, aware that as answers go it’s a pretty substandard one to give.

  
  


“Can you try?”

  
  


“I don’t know, Eve. It’s late and...” She trails off, seeing Eve and her slightly disappointed face, and then thinking of her speech about Sue and her 200 cats. “Alright, alright, I’ll try...”

  
  


Eve leans in closer, giving Villanelle a supportive smile. 

  
  


“So, I know I killed him, I’m not insane. But, it’s sort of like it wasn’t me, or like it was a different part of me, or... I don’t know. I just go somewhere else.” Villanelle stops, feeling a niggle of frustration. “I’m not explaining this well.”

  
  


“You are, you’re explaining it fine. Keep going.” 

  
  


“Well, that part of me did it, but this other part of me, this new part of me, was freaking out the whole time. My hands were shaking and I thought I was going to pass out, but...”

  
  


“But you still did it?”

  
  


“Yeah. Because I had to.” Another pause. “Because he was going to hurt you.”

  
  


And that comes as a revelation to both of them, like the words just formed on their own and then snuck out without bothering to seek her permission. 

  
  


Villanelle stiffens, trying to wrap her head around what she’s just said about Eve, and _to_ Eve no less.

  
  


“You wanted to be my white knight, huh?” Eve says finally, a tinge of playfulness seeping into her voice. And Villanelle appreciates the gift of a mood lightener immensely.

  
  


“I think I’m probably more a dark shade of grey knight, to be fair, Eve.”

  
  


“Silver, then. You’re way too fashionable and flamboyant for dark grey.”

  
  


Villanelle chuckles a little, being careful not to jostle her ribs. And Eve leans closer, putting her head on her shoulder.

  
  


“That doesn’t hurt you does it?” Eve asks quietly. “Me leaning on you?”

  
  


“Nah. No more than anything else does right now.”

  
  


Villanelle waits a few seconds before tilting her own head against Eve’s, feels her whole self sink into the soft pillow of her hair, as a strange feeling washes over her. She doesn’t know what that feeling is, whether it even has a name in any language, but she knows it feels nice. 

  
  


Villanelle yawns, and then immediately hates herself for it because it makes her lungs burn. 

  
  


“I’m sorry.” She says suddenly, and she feels Eve tense beside her.

  
  


“Sorry for what?”

  
  


“I promised you a do-over tonight?”

  
  


“Oh, _that_. Well, things didn’t exactly go as planned, so...”

  
  


“Rain check?” Another lung burning yawn surfaces, closely followed by one from Eve.

  
  


“Rain check.” Eve agrees. “Or I think I might even fall asleep on myself this time.”

  
  


****

  
  


Things will always look better in the morning.

  
  


Eve’s mom used to tell her that all the time when she was growing up, and Eve soon learnt that more often than not it was simply not true. A big, red pimple did not just magically go away overnight, the loss of a loved one is still just as painful upon waking and that big test you go to sleep dreading is still looming over you as soon as you open your eyes.

  
  


And, as Eve suspects, her mom’s advice is also not true on this particular morning either, when they both wake up cold and tired, after a fitful nights sleep against the base of a tree.

  
  


Villanelle’s muscles have almost entirely seized up now from inflammation and lack of use, and Eve’s ankle has also decided to join in on the party, looking noticeably swollen when she extracts herself from her sleeping bag.

  
  


“We’re going to die out here.” Villanelle says, always a ray of sunshine first thing in the morning.

  
  


“Don’t be so stupid, of course we’re not going to die.”

  
  


“We are. I’ll die first probably, from a really gross infection or a punctured lung. And then you’ll die from starvation because the food’s run out. Or maybe you’ll die from a broken heart.”

  
  


“A broken heart?”

  
  


“Yeah. You know, like in the movies, when you don’t know how much someone means to you until they’re gone?”

  
  


“Villanelle...”

  
  


“Or you might die from withdrawal.” Villanelle makes a sad, dramatic face. “No coffee.”

  
  


Oh my God, no coffee...

  
  


Eve can literally feel a headache coming on.

“I don’t want to hear another mention of the word ‘coffee’ until I’m holding one in my hands. Okay?”

  
  


“Okay, Eve...” Villanelle agrees, although her sincerity is very questionable. “We really need to get going, help me up.”

  
  


Eve watches as Villanelle tries to shift and wriggle out of her sleeping bag, wincing and groaning, like a wounded caterpillar. 

  
  


“You’re in no fit state to go anywhere.”

  
  


Villanelle scowls.

  
  


“I’ll be _fine_. I just need to start moving again.”

  
  


Eve rolls her eyes because seriously, what’s the point in even trying to reason with someone this pig-headed? 

  
  


“Oh fine! I’ll help you.”

  
  


Eve moves with only a slight limp to Villanelle’s side, relived to find that her ankle actually feels a whole lot better than it looks. She suspects that the same can’t be said however for Villanelle who, if possible, looks even more bruised than the day before. Like a browning piece of fruit you keep forgetting to take out of the fruit bowl.

  
  


“Ouch, _careful_ , careful...” Villanelle instructs, as though there’s actually a way for Eve to move her that doesn’t involve unbearable, searing pain. “Not too fast, just... yeah... ouch! Ouch, that _hurts_ , Eve. Okay, try again, _slowly_...”

  
  


Eve does as she’s told, taking the majority of Villanelle’s weight across her shoulders in the end, as she uses nearly all of her core strength to propel them both into a standing position.

  
  


And, once she’s finally up, Villanelle keeps her arm snaked around Eve’s shoulders, swaying like she’s just disembarked from a particularly long and choppy cruise.

  
  


“Are you okay?” Eve asks with a high degree of scepticism. “You don’t look so good.” 

  
  


Eve is aware that this comment could quite possibly qualify for her understatement of the entire year, because Villanelle looked terrible before she even tried to get up.

  
  


“I feel fantastic.”

  
  


“Of course you do.”

  
  


Villanelle slips her arm from Eve’s shoulder now, leaning her whole body against the tree, and Eve has to stop herself from reaching out to touch her again. Desperately wanting to physically comfort her in some way, but knowing it will more than likely be brushed off.

  
  


“I’ll get us something to eat then, before we set off.”

  
  


Eve pieces together a rather meagre breakfast of an apple, to share, and another cereal bar each. They could have had more, as there’s currently plenty of food, but Eve fears it running out, especially after Villanelle’s less than helpful premonition about her starving to death.

  
  


Once the sleeping bags are packed away, and they’re both wearing a clean set of other people’s clothes, they begin their descent down the hill, mercifully finding it a lot easier than climbing up it was the night before. They pass the red breakfast apple back and forth between them as they walk, in a weirdly comfortable and intimate exchange, until there’s only a few bites left on its core.

  
  


Villanelle offers it back to Eve with an outstretched hand.

  
  


“You have it.” Eve tells her, because she remembers how little Villanelle ate the night before, and also because she isn’t really a breakfast person anyway.

  
  


Villanelle shrugs in response, finishes the apple and then gingerly tosses what’s left into a nearby bush.

  
  


“How’s your ankle?”

  
  


Eve laughs out loud, fixing Villanelle with an incredulous look.

  
  


“Do you seriously think I’m going to complain about my ankle to you right now?”

  
  


Villanelle gives another shrug.

  
  


“If it’s hurting then yeah? Why not?”

  
  


“Err, because have you seen yourself?”

  
  


“No, Eve.” Villanelle huffs back, as though that’s entirely beside the point. “But I don’t need to. I know I still look good. I _always_ look good.”

  
  


Eve’s lips fold in on themselves to suppress a smile, because yeah, of course she still looks good, and of course she knows it.

  
  


“I’m glad to see all this hasn’t knocked your confidence.”

  
  


“Should it?” Villanelle asks looking genuinely confused by the suggestion, and Eve laughs again.

  
  


“No, of course not.”

  
  


Oh and how Eve wishes she had even half of Villanelle’s confidence, because she suspects she doesn’t pull off the unwashed, slept-in-a-forest-all-night look, anywhere near as gloriously.

  
  


And then there’s her hair...

  
  


Eve pulls a subconscious hand through her frizzy curls and sighs.

  
  


“What.”

  
  


“Nothing.”

  
  


“Oh come on, Eve. I need something to distract me.”

  
  


Eve scuffs the toe of her good foot into the dusty ground as she walks.

  
  


“It’s just, my hair.”

  
  


“Your hair?” Villanelle raises her eyebrows and shifts her bags about a bit, as though it might somehow make them more comfortable to carry. “Go on.”

  
  


“It’s... complicated.”

  
  


“Eve!” Villanelle sounds frustrated now. “You’re the one who keeps saying we need to talk about our feelings? So, hair feelings. Go.”

  
  


“No, no, I mean my _hair’s_ complicated.”

  
  


“Oh.” Villanelle frowns. “Complicated, how?”

  
  


“It just doesn’t like certain things. Like heat, or rain. Or being washed too much, or not being washed enough... and I have to brush it a certain way... but not too much because-”

  
  


“-it doesn’t like being brushed too much.”

  
  


“Exactly! And being out here...” Eve gestures around at the complete lack of civilisation and curly hair friendly situations. “Well, it won’t like that.”

  
  


“And that makes you... sad?” Villanelle to her credit, looks as though she’s really trying to understand, her face screwing up as she attempts to analyse the potential ramifications of Eve having a bad hair day, or week, or month, or however long they end up out here for.

  
  


“Not sad, just...” Eve considers carefully what she wants to say next. “It just doesn’t feel very _nice_. And... well, I know you really like my hair, so.”

  
  


“Ooooooohh!” Villanelle draws her o’s out for a really long time, like she’s just had the greatest epiphany of her life. “So, this is actually about me.”

  
  


“No.”

  
  


“It is.”

  
  


“It’s not.”

  
  


“It _so_ is.”

  
  


Eve walks on a few more paces, starting to wish she’d never mentioned her hair in the first place.

  
  


But then again...

  
  


She glances at Villanelle, and Villanelle looks happy, happier than she’s seen her look in a while. So maybe it was worth sacrificing a little bit more of her dwindling dignity for.

  
  


“It’s actual pretty simple, you know.” Villanelle says now, looking off to the side, like this conversation is secondary to what’s actually going on in her head. “I mean, the reason I like your hair is _because_ it’s complicated. If it wasn’t... it’d just be like everyone else’s.”

  
  


“Yeah, you mean it’d be _normal_.”

  
  


Villanelle flashes her a look of irritation.

  
  


“Why do you care so much about being like everybody else?”

  
  


“I don’t?”

  
  


“You do. You said it on the bridge too, about your house, and your husband, and your chicken.”

  
  


Oh, the bridge again. How could two people stand on the same bridge, at the same time, and then not-walk-away from each other with two completely different versions of what happened?

  
  


“I...” Eve digs deep and comes up empty. “I don’t know.”

  
  


“Well.” Villanelle says seriously. “If Margaret was here she’d definitely tell you to work on that.”

  
  


****

  
  


The topic of Eve’s normality complex keeps them going for a good hour and a half.

  
  


“Maybe it was my mom’s fault?”

  
  


“Yeah?”

  
  


“Well, she always wanted everything to be perfect, you know? Perfect house, perfect husband, perfect daughter...” Eve trails off thoughtfully. “Is that too obvious?”

  
  


Villanelle shrugs with some degree of difficulty, trying to push the rather insistent pain that keeps rearing it’s ugly head to the back of her mind.

  
  


“Sometimes it _is_ obvious, Eve. It didn’t have anything to do with Niko then?”

  
  


“Niko?” Eve takes a moment to let that idea sink in, then shakes her head. “No. Niko couldn’t care less about how normal I was, or what I did, or what I looked like. Well, to a point, obviously. But I mean, if I wanted to stay in my pyjamas all weekend and eat my body weight in ice cream, he wouldn’t care. That’s just how he was.”

  
  


Villanelle notes that when Eve talks about Nico she still has a certain fondness in her voice. The sort of fondness you might have for an old dog that needs to be put down, or... no, it was definitely the old dog thing.

  
  


“Ah, so he was your antidote.” Villanelle says, piecing it all together. “Interesting.”

  
  


“My... what? What are you talking about?”

  
  


“Antidote. You know, to your mother?” Villanelle waits for Eve to catch up, but her face remains blank. “Your mother wanted everything to be perfect. She cared too much about what everyone else thought of you, of your image, right? So, it kind of makes sense that you married someone who didn’t care if you wore a turtleneck for the rest of your life.”

  
  


“It does?”

  
  


“It _definitely_ does.”

  
  


“Where are you getting all this from?” Eve looks suspicious now, and Villanelle is quick to muster up an innocent smile.

  
  


“I may have read a tiny bit of Margaret’s book yesterday, while I was waiting for a convenient time to jump out and surprise Stuart and Megan.”

  
  


Eve inhales sharply.

  
  


“Villanelle! That’s... that’s cheating!” 

  
  


“No it’s not?”

  
  


“It is! It’s called _couples_ therapy. We’re supposed to be going through it together!”

  
  


“We are? You said stuff, and I listened. Then I said stuff, and you listened. Together.”

  
  


Eve puffs out her cheeks like an angry hamster, letting out a fast puff of air as they deflate.

  
  


“Yes, but you’re not supposed to be the one who’s psychoanalysing me!”

  
  


“Well, our therapist has probably turned us over to the police for suspected murder by now so...”

  
  


“Look, just... next time, we read the book together. Okay?”

  
  


“Fine.” Villanelle juts out her bottom lip. “Spoilsport.”

  
  


There comes a point, long after they’ve stopped talking, that Villanelle loses all sense of time and place completely. She just keeps going, single-mindedly putting one foot in front of the other. It’s easier, she finds, to keep her eyes on the ground, rather than on the army of trees that surround her, as they can be disorientating and don’t offer the same, rolling sense of progress. 

  
  


But, despite her best efforts, she knows her pace is slowing, so much so that even Eve’s little legs are striding out ahead of her. Which is very telling in and of itself really.

  
  


She’s about to tell Eve to stop, that she can’t possibly take one more step, when Eve lets out an elated gasp.

  
  


“Oh my God!”

  
  


Villanelle lifts her head, neck stiff from the god knows how long of looking down, and follows Eve’s gaze.

  
  


“Look! Villanelle, look!”

  
  


It’s a stream, a slippy, trickling, winding stream, and oh God it’s like it’s been sent from heaven. If you believe in heaven, which Villanelle didn’t until maybe five seconds ago.

  
  


They drop all their stuff, kick off their shoes and socks, and Villanelle even takes off her trousers too, because a little semi-nudity (or even full-on nudity) doesn’t bother her. And she’s not about to miss out on the chance to fully enjoy this little gift from above, just because Eve can be a bit of a prude.

  
  


Sure enough, Eve keeps her clothes firmly on, but still throws herself into the stream with a splash of joyous abandon.

  
  


Villanelle is a little more cautious about her entrance, given her injuries, and settles instead for more of a gradual wallow. The water only comes up to her hips, but as she dips her arms and chest in, a spill of pink swirls around her. 

  
  


And it feels good, so, so good, to be washing away all the blood, and flecks of paint and tiny, itchy strands of glitter. The unwanted trophies of yesterday’s violence.

  
  


Eve’s laughter pulls her focus, it’s the really loud, happy kind, that she only seems to relinquish when she’s too distracted by whatever’s making her laugh to not feel too self-conscious about it. 

  
  


Villanelle has made her laugh like that a few times before, and it’s definitely on her Eve-related-bucket-list to keep making it happen, over and over again.

  
  


They stay in the water for ages, laughing with each other and splashing at each other and, for a while at least, they’re almost... maybe... carefree?

  
  


Yes, Villanelle realises, as she ducks her head under the water for a second time, this must be what it feels like... to be halfway to carefree.

  
  


And she never wants to go back.

  
  


****

  
  


“Extiende la carpa.”

  
  


Eve sits back on her heels and wipes a hand across her forehead. It’s late afternoon, the sun is a beautiful ball of orange sitting low in the sky, the birds are singing and Villanelle is propped up on the forest floor reading the tent instructions out in...

  
  


Eve actually has no idea. It could be ancient Sanskrit for all the difference it makes to her.

  
  


“Marca las cuatro esquinas firmemente.”

  
  


“You’re doing it again.”

  
  


“Qué?”

  
  


“Speaking... something that isn’t English? You’re supposed to be helping!”

  
  


Villanelle clucks her tongue as though Eve is the one who is being extremely inconvenient.

  
  


“But the instructions make more sense in Spanish. _And_ they sound nicer. _And_ _I’m sooo bored_.”

  
  


Eve takes a deep, calming breath and tries to cast her mind back to earlier, when they were having fun together in the stream. When Villanelle wasn’t being a pain in the ass. When she didn’t have a tent in bits and pieces at her feet.

  
  


“Well, they don’t make more sense to me.”

  
  


“They would, if you learnt to speak Spanish.”

  
  


Eve considers taking one of the tent poles and bashing her round the head with it.

  
  


“I need a cigarette.” Eve settles for, throwing the poles on the ground. 

  
  


Villanelle pulls a disgusted face. 

  
  


“I hate smoking.”

  
  


“Yeah? Well, I like it.”

  
  


“You need to stake the corners into the ground.” Villanelle instructs again, in English now, as though resigned to continuing with her task. “It makes you smell terrible - smoking.”

  
  


“Maybe I like the smell.” Eve replies, bashing the stakes in rather aggressively with the mallet. “What next?”

  
  


“Ensamblar pos-“

  
  


Eve points the mallet at her by way of warning.

  
  


“Fine. Be boring.” She sighs. “Assemble the poles.”

  
  


“Thank you.”

  
  


“And it kills you.”

  
  


Eve scoffs at the irony of that argument.

  
  


“Says you!”

  
  


“Okay, true.”

  
  


It takes them another hour to create something that looks like the picture on the front of the instruction manual. Well, something _sort of_ like the picture.

  
  


Eve stands back to get a proper look, tilting her head to the side.

  
  


“Does it look like it’s leaning to one side to you?”

  
  


Villanelle tilts her head slightly too, considering it.

  
  


“A bit, yeah.”

  
  


“Ugh.” Is all Eve can manage in response, dropping to the ground beside Villanelle and flinging an arm over her face. “God, I’m tired.”

  
  


Eve feels herself dipping into a rare, and therefore all the more pitiful, state of hopelessness.

  
  


She goes over and over it in her head, every possible scenario, every potential way out of this. And comes up blank every time.

  
  


Eve thinks glumly that maybe Villanelle was right this morning, that they really will die out here. Or maybe they won’t die, but they’ll end up staying out here forever and ever, living off whatever they can beg, borrow and steal.

  
  


Eve isn’t sure which of those two options is worse, because neither hold much promise for a hot cup of coffee every morning, or for her special curly hair routines, or for a place to sleep that doesn’t lean to one side.

  
  


“I think we should call Carolyn.”

  
  


Villanelle turns to look at her, and responds in the same tone someone might use if they’ve just been asked to pull one of their own teeth out.

  
  


“What?! No!” 

  
  


“But-”

  
  


“No, Eve.” Villanelle repeats firmly. “We can’t. How do you know she wasn’t the one who told The Twelve where we were in the first place?”

  
  


“Because she wouldn’t?”

  
  


“Oh well, now I’m convinced! Let’s call her!”

  
  


“Stop being a dick.” Eve cautions and Villanelle’s face shifts into a sulky pout. “Fine. You’re right. Okay? We won’t call her.”

  
  


“Good.” 

  
  


“Probably couldn’t find a phone out here anyway.” Eve mutters, still feeling rather sorry for herself.

  
  


“Come on then.”

  
  


“Come on then, what?” She grumbles back.

  
  


“Well, I can’t run you a hot bath with scented candles for obvious reasons, so what else can I do to cheer you up?”

  
  


Eve’s eyes slide suspiciously towards Villanelle’s. They’re closed, which means she’s relaxed, and likely genuine in her offering.

  
  


“ _You_ want to cheer _me_ up?”

  
  


“Sure.” Villanelle says with a little shrug. “Of course.”

  
  


_Of course._

  
  


Eve looks back up to the sky and stares for a few seconds at a particularly fluffy cloud. She thinks it looks like the pool of froth you get on a good cappuccino, or the strong puff of exhaled cigarette smoke. Or maybe that’s just her id talking.

  
  


“You could...” Eve trails off and laughs a little at herself, because it’s clear her id is absolutely raging. Daring her to give into her every want and whim.

  
  


“Say it?”

  
  


“Kiss me?” Oh and it sounds _so_ needy when she says it like that, and she knows it’s **so** unfair to ask it of her, after all the fuss she’d made in front of Margaret about how kisses should be spontaneous and organic. 

  
  


Organic.

  
  


That word doesn’t seem so appealing anymore, not now that her every waking moment is one organic experience after the other. Sure, nature is beautiful, and Eve appreciates it, but she misses the hustle and bustle, and the honking of cars and having a Costa or a Starbucks on every corner. 

  
  


She misses having a bit of selfish and indulgent consumerism.

  
  


And she really wants to be selfish and indulgent and consuming with Villanelle. 

  
  


“Shit!” Eve sits up suddenly, her completely uncensored thoughts startling her like a cold slap in the face. “That was... that was... it was really, really unfair of me, and I’m so, so sorry.”

  
  


Villanelle looks confused, more confused than Eve has ever seen her look before, her mouth just hanging slightly open in stunned silence.

“It’s the lack of coffee.” Eve continues, babbling now. “I really can’t stop thinking about it. You see that cloud? Even that cloud looks like a coffee to me.”

  
  


Villanelle’s eyes shifts from Eve’s face to the cloud she’s pointing at and then back again.

  
  


“And cigarettes. I keep seeing them too. Like, big, big puffs of smoke.”

  
  


“Eve, I think you should go and lie down for a while... maybe all that sun went to your head?”

  
  


“Yes! Yes.” Eve nods frantically, practically falling over her own feet as she tries to back away from Villanelle, heading towards the lopsided tent. “I’ll just be... in here. Alone.”

  
  


“Okay...”

Eve trips over the lip of the canopy as she enters, and then makes a hasty decision to zip the door shut, determined to put as much of a barrier between herself and Villanelle as possible.

  
  


Because...because...

  
  


_What the hell was that?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, I almost DELETED this chapter. I mean, I actually DID delete it, but by some miracle I managed to get the majority of it back. I did have to re-write a small part but luckily the dialogue was still in my head. I was distraught for a short time though :((((((
> 
> There was so much chat here. Are you still alive out there??? I hope you still feel you can stick with it, because we're getting there!!!!
> 
> Shout out to my Spanish commenter - the Spanish was for you :D I can only apologise if it was wrong.


	15. Baked Beans & Psychopaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh, I'm not sure if I should be posting this yet. Not that you aren't all very deserving, but I really like this chapter and I probably should have kept it up my sleeve for a bit longer but... what the hell!
> 
> Enjoy :D
> 
> P.S. Thank you for all your amazing comments on the last chapter, you're all the best and I literally love reading them all <3

Villanelle makes them dinner. Or in other words, Villanelle opens a can of baked beans and sticks two spoons in it.

  
  


She contemplates making a fire to heat them up on, as she does have some basic survival training under her belt after all, but it’s been a long day, and she’s tired, and Eve is still being weird and hiding in their tent.

  
  


“Eve! Dinner!”

  
  


Eve comes out of the tent almost immediately, still looking a bit sheepish, but apparently recovered enough to partake in Villanelle’s intimate dining experience of pass the can of baked beans.

  
  


“This is good.” Eve says, presumably to be polite.

  
  


Villanelle smirks.

  
  


“Is it?”

  
  


Eve doesn’t answer, and so things simply remain as they are - quiet and weird.

  
  


Villanelle frowns to herself, still not understanding why Eve got so freaked out in the first place about kissing, and coffee and cigarettes. It’s understandable she thinks, that Eve might ask her to kiss her when she needs cheering up. She is a very good kisser after all, and Eve has pretty much told her as much herself...

  
  


“ _I want to do this every morning.”_

  
  


So why the apologising and the running, and the hiding?

  
  


Blah. Eve makes her brain hurt.

  
  


“Confused duck face.” Eve highlights with an accusing jab of her spoon. “What’s up?”

  
  


Villanelle passes the can of beans back, prolonging the chewing of her last mouthful so that she doesn’t have to answer her right away. Not that baked beans really need much chewing anyway.

  
  


“I was just thinking about you and your addictive personality disorder.”

  
  


Eve looks every bit as indignant as Villanelle is expecting.

  
  


“I do _not_ have an addictive personality!”

  
  


“Pfft! You do. According to chapter two of Margaret’s book, anyway.”

  
  


Eve narrows her eyes.

  
  


“I thought you only read a little bit?”

  
  


“I did. But it has short chapters. And I read reallyyy fast.”

  
  


“Right.” A resigned sigh. “Go on then. What does it say.” 

  
  


Villanelle grins, pleased that Eve can’t resist finding out more.

  
  


“Pretty standard stuff... how it’s easy for you to get addicted to things like coffee, and wine and cigarettes...”

  
  


“Oh come on, it actually says that?” And then, when Villanelle nods. “Pah! No it doesn’t!”

  
  


“It says you’re probably obsessive too. Obsessive about routines, or things, or **people**...”

  
  


Eve snorts, folding her arms.

  
  


“Oh I see, and you think I’m obsessive about _you_ I suppose?”

  
  


Villanelle gives her a wide eyed shrug.

  
  


“I don’t know, Eve. You did say you couldn’t stop thinking about me, and you did lead a whole department to find me...”

  
  


“Yes, for my _job_.”

  
  


“Ah yes, your job. Which some might say you were a little over invested in... a little _obsessive_ about too?”

  
  


“Wow, okay, well if I’m obsessive than so are you! With all that designer stuff that you have to surround yourself with.”

  
  


“I just like nice things.” Villanelle answers simply, with an intentionally annoying smile.

  
  


“Okay, then how about the fact you know all about me too? My dress size, my shoe size, my _bus route_?”

  
  


Villanelle falters for a moment at that, because she does have a point. Only...

  
  


“But I’m a psychopath. And psychopaths do creepy things like that.”

  
  


Villanelle takes the can of beans back, getting a smug sense of satisfaction from her answer.

  
  


“Do they? I thought psychopaths were only obsessed with themselves?”

  
  


Eve’s watching her intently now, like she’s really curious to hear her response to that one.

  
  


Villanelle eats a spoonful of the lukewarm beans.

  
  


“ _You_ said I was a psychopath.” Is her eventual reply, and she doesn’t feel quite so smug about it. “You and _a lot_ of therapists.”

  
  


“You’ve been in therapy before?”

  
  


“Mm-hmm. Had to. The Twelve liked to make sure I was still...” Villanelle taps her temple with the handle of her spoon, being careful to avoid her tender bump. “It was mostly looking at picture of ink blots and dead animals, and things. Sometimes Konstantin took me for ice cream after. It was quite a nice way to spend half an hour.”

  
  


Eve looks unsettled, which is unusual lately, because Eve can kill people with her foot now, and shoot them in the head without even flinching.

  
  


Maybe dead animals make her sad, Villanelle thinks, some people are very sensitive about animals.

  
  


“Did I upset you?” Villanelle decides to ask, when Eve still hasn’t said anything several minutes later. “About the dead animals?”

  
  


Eve shakes her head.

  
  


“No. Well, yes. I’m just... I’m upset for you.”

  
  


Oh.

  
  


Villanelle scratches her head, because she certainly can’t see anything remotely upsetting about a bit of therapy followed by ice cream. And it was really expensive ice cream, too.

  
  


“You aren’t a psychopath, Villanelle.” Eve sighs out sadly. “I’m sorry I said you were, and I’m sorry that all those other people did too.”

  
  


Villanelle mulls that over for a few seconds, and then shrugs, and eats some more beans.

  
  


“It’s okay.”

  
  


“... it’s okay?” Eve repeats in disbelief. “You mean you don’t care that everyone’s been incorrectly calling you a psychopath for most of your life?”

  
  


“Not really?” 

  
  


Eve looks flabbergasted.

  
  


“It was just nice to have a label, you know? Something to explain why I’m like this.”

  
  


Eve groans, but not in a nasty way, in a sort of sorrowful, full of feeling way that sets Villanelle’s teeth on edge.

  
  


“Villanelle, you don’t need a label, you’re just...” Eve flounders for a moment, her hands and spoon waving around for inspiration. “You’re just... you. **Oksana**.”

  
  


****

  
  


It doesn’t take Eve long to realise that calling Villanelle ‘Oksana’ in the middle of nowhere, whilst sharing a semi-cold can of baked beans, is a very stupid thing to do indeed. 

  
  


The can of beans ends up hurled past her, narrowly missing her head and instead hitting one of the trees just behind her. Eve feels a splash of bean juice splatter onto the exposed skin of her shoulders, and she can only imagine how much goes into her hair.

  
  


Villanelle is on her feet in an instant, fists clenched at her sides and jaw set, it’s the fastest she’s seen her move since they’ve been out here, and Eve thinks she’s probably supposed to feel interrogated or frightened...

  
  


But she doesn’t. 

  
  


“Don’t _ever_ call me that again!”

  
  


Eve blinks up at Villanelle slowly, calmly, curiously.

  
  


“I don’t, I don’t _like_ it!”

  
  


“Okay.” Eve replies simply, and that just seems to annoy Villanelle all the more.

  
  


“You don’t GET IT, Eve. You don’t - _hic_ \- understand!”

  
  


Eve watches Villanelle wince as she hiccups, a hand going to her ribs.

  
  


“No, you’re right. I don’t understand why this is so upsetting for you.”

  
  


“I’m not - _hic_ \- upset!”

  
  


“Okay...”

  
  


“ _Hic_.”

  
  


“Do you want some water?”

  
  


“NO! Stop trying to be so - _hic_ \- nice to me!”

  
  


Eve thinks that’s probably one of the most ridiculous things she’s ever heard. Or would be if it was coming for anyone else, from anyone who had ever known kindness, and niceness and decency.

  
  


“I just threw a can of beans at your head, Eve!” Villanelle continues, as though Eve has forgotten already, or perhaps just entirely missed the semi-hefty object as it whizzed past.

  
  


“You threw a can of beans _behind_ my head, actually. And of course I’m going to be nice to you.”

  
  


“Why?! Why would you be nice to someone who, who - _hic_ \- is shouting at you and throwing things at you?! Are you _crazy_?!”

  
  


“I’m not scared of you.” Eve says levelly, and she sees another shift across Villanelle’s twisted features.

  
  


“You should be.” A pause. “ _Hic_.” 

  
  


“Why can’t I call you Oksana?”

  
  


It’s so risky and so stupid to ask, but Eve can’t help herself. Because this reaction is so... different to what she’s seen from her before. So different to the time she called her Oksana in her kitchen, when she’d just responded with a cocky raise of her eyebrows.

  
  


“Because Oksana is... _was_...” Villanelle shakes her head at the inner conflict. “She was stupid and - _hic_ \- naive - _hic_.”

  
  


The double hiccup make her groan, and she sways a little on her feet.

  
  


“Sit down.”

  
  


“No.”

  
  


God, would they ever stop arguing about literally everything?

  
  


“What happened to her?”

  
  


Villanelle visibly trembles now, her fists clenching and unclenching, head subtlety but repeatedly shaking. And Eve thinks for a long time that she isn’t even going to answer at all.

  
  


“Bad things.” She whispers out, and Eve feels herself break a little inside. 

  
  


“Villanelle.”

  
  


And that names seems to get an entirely different reaction, a shout, a guttural, primal scream of defiance, and then...

  
  


“ _Hic_.”

  
  


And then, finally...

  
  


“Eve...”

  
  


She’s crying, big, blobby tears that sprint down her cheekbones. One after the other, after the other, like the rushing stream they’d been in mere hours ago.

  
  


“She, she took me away... she...”

  
  


Eve stands now too, arms feeling empty, and heavy and useless by her sides, as Villanelle continues to cry and hiccup uncontrollably in front of her.

  
  


“Mama.” She breathes out, even though Eve didn’t ask who she was talking about, didn’t need to. “They were arguing. They were always arguing, about me. _Hic_. And then she came to my room, and she picked me up like, like I was little, really little. And she stroked my h-hair and my face, and she said she...” Villanelle screws her face up, shakes her head again, firmer now, and of course Eve can guess what she said. “And then she c-carried me - _hic_ \- out of the house.” A sigh, a snuffle as she swipes at eyes and nose. “Because Oksana... trusted her. See? _Hic_. _I_ trusted her.”

  
  


Eve can scarcely breathe her throat is so tight, the air around them so thin and fragile.

  
  


“And that’s when she took you there? To the orphanage.”

  
  


Villanelle nods, sniffles again, her body sagging now like it’s completely wrung out. 

  
  


And Eve doesn’t know why she does it, because she’s not even sure it’s _right_ to do it, whether it’s almost as bad as what her mother did, taking advantage of someone when they’re small and vulnerable and broken, but she kisses her.

  
  


Not like the kiss on the bus, not like the kisses at Wisteria Manor, these are softer, gentler, kinder kisses. And Villanelle melts into them with a whimper, her knees nudging Eve’s as she sinks down ever so slightly, almost like she might collapse.

  
  


A break then. To breathe. To hiccup.

  
  


And then back to kissing, a little less gentle this time, a little more wanton. Eve’s hands dancing over Villanelle’s clothes, desperate to touch her but knowing every one of her injuries inside out and being so scared to hurt her. 

  
  


To hurt her again.

  
  


“ _Hic_.”

  
  


Villanelle literally hiccups into her mouth, causing their teeth to clash and noses to bump.

  
  


“Sorry.” She says, clearly embarrassed as pulls back again and wipes at her still teary eyes.

  
  


Eve doesn’t think she’s ever seen embarrassment on Villanelle before. She’s normally so sure and confident, but this side of her is... _soft_ and _sweet_ , and maybe just a little bit more Oksana than it is Villanelle. If the two can even be so easily distinguished... and Eve lets herself wonder at that possibility for just a moment, despite knowing that she is nowhere near ready to make any kind of a final judgment.

  
  


“You don’t have to be sorry.” Eve tells her with a steady sort of conviction. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Okay?”

  
  


Villanelle shuffles her feet, still awkward.

  
  


“Not even for throwing something at your head?”

  
  


“You didn’t hit me though?”

  
  


“Only because my aim is - _hic_ \- off. My muscles are still _so_ sore.”

  
  


“Oh, right.” Eve says, not sure how to feel about the fact she would have been clocked on the head if it weren’t for Villanelle’s current incapacitation. “Well, then yes, you can be sorry about that.”

  
  


“Okay.” Villanelle nods, seeming reasonably satisfied. “Eve, I think we should talk.”

  
  


“You want to talk _more_? More than _this_?

  
  


Eve can’t even try to hide her surprise. 

  
  


“Yes. I think so... about us?”

  
  


****

  
  


They sit in the wonky tent, bundled in sleeping bags and the half-light of sunset. 

  
  


It’s that funny time of the evening, when it’s not quite night and it’s not quite day either, and Villanelle thinks she’s never truly appreciated how nice it is before. 

  
  


How peaceful. 

  
  


The awful crying has finally stopped now, and the hiccups that have been plaguing her seem to have finally gone too. 

  
  


“ _Hic_.”

  
  


Well, almost.

  
  


Eve smiles at her, a warm, tender smile that makes her body feel strange things.

  
  


“I had to go to Russia last time.” She offers by way of explanation, and Eve looks quizzically at her. “To get rid of my hiccups.”

  
  


Another smile, even warmer than the last one, and Villanelle can’t stop the shiver that rolls up her spine.

  
  


“Well, that could be tricky.” Eve points out, still looking at her in that way, that _new_ way. “We could pretend we’re in Russia though, if that would help.”

  
  


“I don’t think it works like that, Eve.” 

  
  


And Villanelle doesn’t want to go back to Russia again, ever.

  
  


“No, probably not.”

  
  


They both drop their gaze, the quieting sounds of outside overtaking for a moment. Villanelle listens to the last few calls of the birds, and the swish of the trees overhead as they waltz back and forth with the wind.

  
  


“Do you still want your do-over?” Villanelle asks, hearing a waver of uncertainty in her voice that should not be there. Because she does not waver, not normally.

  
  


Eve sighs, a tired, deep sigh.

  
  


“I think it might be a bit superfluous now.”

  
  


Villanelle drops her head, frowning, only for Eve to immediately lean in.

  
  


“Hey.” Eve tries to catch her eye. “What’s that look for?”

  
  


“I...” Villanelle lifts her head again, rolling her eyes a little as she utters rather begrudgingly: “I don’t know what that word means.”

  
  


It’s a special sort of pain for Villanelle when she has to admit that she doesn’t know absolutely everything.

  
  


“Ohhhh.” And Eve’s smiling that smile again. “It’s just means like, it’s irrelevant now.”

  
  


Irrelevant. 

  
  


Villanelle frowns again, not sure she likes the sound of that super-flu-us word. And another hiccup presses into her throat.

  
  


“ _Hic_.”

  
  


“It’s not a bad thing.” Eve continues, seeing her reaction. “It’s just, I think you already know how I feel.”

  
  


“Not really, Eve.”

  
  


“Really? After that, out there?”

  
  


Villanelle knows she’s talking about the kiss, and yes, of course it was amazing. Kissing Eve is _always_ amazing. But it still doesn’t give her any real answers. Things are pretty much just the same as before, except Eve is a lot more smiley about it.

  
  


“What do you want.” Villanelle says plainly, her heart revving up, beating so loudly she can hear it in her ears. And she wonders if Eve can too.

  
  


Eve takes her hand and runs her thumb over the back of it.

  
  


“I want you. The good stuff. The bad stuff. All the stuff.”

  
  


Villanelle releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

  
  


“I want all the stuff too, Eve.” A pause, an almost hiccup, but she swallows it back down. “But... I’ve never had the stuff before. And I don’t think I know how to?”

  
  


“It’s new for me too.” Eve reassures, squeezing her hand in solidarity.

  
  


“No. It’s not the same. You had a whole bunch of stuff with Niko? A whole _house_ of stuff.”

  
  


“Well, yes, but not stuff like we’ve got.” 

  
  


“How do we know if our stuff will work out?” Villanelle asks in a hasty, regrettable rush.

  
  


But Eve just smiles. Again. And God, that smile.

  
  


“It will. We’ll figure it out.”

  
  


Villanelle nods slowly, not quite sure whether she wants to hiccup again, or yawn, or maybe both.

  
  


She points instead at the tents lopsided ceiling.

  
  


“Like how you figured out this tent, you mean?”

  
  


Eve bursts out laughing at that, laughing so hard her eyes shimmer but don’t quite tear.

  
  


“You are just as accountable! Reading the instructions out in Spanish? I mean, come on.”

  
  


“How was I supposed to know your communication skills were so limited?

  
  


“You know I can only speak French! And a tiny, terrible bit of French at that.”

  
  


Villanelle grins cheekily.

  
  


“Ta petite tente est de la merde!”

  
  


“Wow, my little tent is shit? You asshole!”

  
  


“So shit.”

  
  


“Yeah? Well, bad news, it’s your shit little tent too.”

  
  


Villanelle takes that one on the chin, because sharing a shit little tent with Eve is actually shaping up to be kind of nice so far.

  
  


The yawn she thought she might need before suddenly re-emerges. Villanelle does her best to smother it back down with her hand, but it’s so big it forces her eyes to shut for several long seconds and her neck to crane back.

  
  


“We still need to talk about what happened with Margaret? When I kissed you?” Villanelle blinks her eyes back open, as she speaks, rubbing them with clumsy fingertips.

  
  


Eve gives a little shake of her head.

  
  


“We’ve already talked a lot tonight, and we’re both tired. You don’t have to.”

  
  


“I want to.”

  
  


Eve regards her steadily, still not looking entirely convinced.

  
  


“Lie down with me, then.” She eventually sighs, and Villanelle feels another shiver roll up her spine.

  
  


They both burrow down on the floor in the semi-darkness, sleeping bags rustling as they ease onto their sides to face each other. Villanelle tries not to grimace too much, her ribs protesting at being laid on the flat, hard ground.

  
  


“Are you okay?”

  
  


“Uh-huh.” 

  
  


And it hits her then, the exhaustion. It floods her bones and her brain, and her eyes immediately begin to struggle against the mere weight of themselves.

  
  


“Oosh.” She breathes out, and thinks hazily that this was perhaps Eve’s cunning plan all along.

  
  


“What?” Eve brings her hand to her face, tracing the edges. “Sleepy?”

  
  


“So much sleepy.”

  
  


Eve chuckles at that, lightly pressing their foreheads together.

  
  


“So sleep. We can talk more tomorrow.” Eve talks around her own yawn now, but it’s small and cute, and nothing like the one Villanelle can feel building.

  
  


Villanelle’s yawn is truly monstrous.

  
  


“No, I want to...” The words die out as Eve strokes down the bridge of her nose. And why does that feel so good? Her eyes flutter, drifting towards inevitableness. “Eve... _hic_.”

  
  


Damn it. Stupid hiccups. 

  
  


“Ssh.” Eve whispers back, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her mouth. “Sleep.”

  
  


And that’s the last thing Villanelle remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. There we are then. Thoughts?? Feelings??
> 
> Would you believe I initially struggled to write this one... I had an evening of writers block and thought my mojo had gone, but then this literally fell out in no time the next morning. 
> 
> I'm finding the next chapter a bit of a slow one at the moment, hopefully I'll have got it right for you guys when I do post it. It's the tricky balance of plot and survival and VILLANEVE you know lol.
> 
> Oh and the last scene was inspired by Tode's comment, so thank you immensely for that x


	16. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Thank you for the AMAZING comments on the last chapter.
> 
> Summary time... again... more talking, walking and sweetness. When you've read it you'll see what I did there.

They both sleep deep, healing sleeps. The kind of sleep where you seldom move from the start of the night to its end.

  
  


Eve wakes first with a jolt, she finds herself on her back and suffering from that weird, disorientated feeling you get when you first wake from a particularly deep slumber. But then she sees the increasingly familiar inside of their tent, and hears the soft rattle of Villanelle’s snores, and the feeling leaves as quickly as it arrives.

  
  


Villanelle shifts as though her subconscious is aware that Eve has surfaced, and one hand stretches out, flopping onto the top of Eve’s sleeping bag, just above her waist. And then her snoring simply recommences, as though she didn’t move or rouse at all.

  
  


Eve smiles to herself, suspecting that with time and patience, Villanelle could become quite a snuggley sleeper. Eve hopes so anyway, because Eve really likes to snuggle, but she also knows it’s a lot to ask from someone who hasn’t known much physical intimacy outside of sex.

  
  


Sex.

  
  


Sex with Villanelle. 

  
  


Eve feels her cheeks burn at the thought. She wonders how she’ll ever survive sex at her hands, her experienced, no doubt wonderfully skilled hands. And Eve thinks of her own then, and the way they fumble with pretty much everything she touches, and she doesn’t want to fumble with Villanelle.

  
  


But she also doesn’t really know what she’s doing...

  
  


And...

  
  


Eve stops herself, aware her thoughts are running away from her again. Allows herself to relinquish a laugh at the absurdity of it all, because they’re only just starting out, and there’s miles to go before sex.

  
  


Unless there isn’t...

  
  


Eve worries again, worries what Villanelle will be expecting, and when she’ll be expecting it to happen. Worries about whether she’ll be able to please her and-

  
  


“Eveeee!” Villanelle cries out, still most of the way to sleep, but apparently cognisant enough to know that Eve is up to no good. “Stop that.”

  
  


“Stop what?”

  
  


“Thinking.”

  
  


Eve freezes, baffled and feeling slightly uneasy. If Villanelle can read her mind then she really is screwed.

  
  


“What? How did you know I was-“

  
  


“Your foot bounces.”

  
  


Eve looks down at her foot, which, sure enough, is bouncing inside her sleeping bag. 

  
  


She stills it immediately.

  
  


“Oh. Sorry.”

  
  


“S’okay.” Villanelle replies groggily, sounding very much like she’s on the cusp of going off to sleep again. “What were you thinking about?”

  
  


Eve chews her lower lip for a moment.

  
  


“Sex.” She says honestly, and Villanelle’s eyes fly open.

  
  


“What?!”

  
  


“I was thinking about sex.”

  
  


“...Eve!?”

  
  


Eve begins to regret her honesty immediately, and attempts to back-pedal as best she can.

  
  


“No, just um, that we should read Margaret’s book soon. And see what comes next? After kissing.”

  
  


Villanelle blinks, her eyes still puffy from sleep.

  
  


“Huh. So, you have a sex obsession too? The book did warn me about that...”

  
  


“What!? No! I just... I wanted some idea, a timescale...maybe...”

  
  


“You want to set a date? Like, T minus 10 days?”

  
  


“No, no, _of course not_!”

  
  


“Eve, this is too much!” Villanelle’s laughing now, loud, cackling laughs like when she’d pretended to poison her with arsenic. “Ohh, oh that hurts.” Villanelle wheezes as she struggles to control herself, pressing a hasty hand to her chest. 

  
  


“You deserve that.” Eve mutters. “I was only being honest.”

  
  


Villanelle fixes her with suddenly big, serious eyes.

  
  


“It’s worrying you? The sex?”

  
  


“No. A bit? Maybe.”

  
  


Villanelle sighs, scanning the roof of the tent, like she’s having some sort of great internal battle with herself.

  
  


“I’m not good at saying the right thing.” Is her eventual reply. “Or good at making people feel better.”

  
  


“Okay...”

  
  


“But I am good at sex. Like, really, _really_ good. Good enough for the both of us, I reckon.”

  
  


Eve rolls her eyes.

  
  


“Wowww, Villanelle, thanks for that?”

  
  


“I did say I wasn’t good at saying the right thing?”

  
  


“Yeah well, no kidding!”

  
  


Eve puts her hands over her face, groaning with an almost unbearable amount of embarrassment and regret for this entire conversation.

  
  


“Are you mad at me?” Villanelle asks quietly, at least having the decency to sound concerned.

  
  


“No... just... really embarrassed.”

  
  


“Hm. Don’t be?”

  
  


Eve peeks out from behind her hands to find Villanelle staring at her, intently.

  
  


“So, I really want to kiss you, but I’m still in a lot of pain and I don’t think I can move.” Villanelle explains quickly, almost pouting.

  
  


Eve laughs, letting her hands drop to her sides, her embarrassment easing.

  
  


“And you think you can have good enough sex for the both of us?”

  
  


“Well, maybe not right now...”

  
  


“T minus 10 days?”

  
  


“Works for me.”

  
  


****

  
  


They approach the day slowly, taking their time getting ready and eating a leisurely breakfast, which is actually more like brunch by the time Eve’s managed to get Villanelle off the floor and back onto her feet.

  
  


Today they have a bread roll, one banana and a cereal bar each. Because Eve can already feel and see the weight dropping off them, and her apprehension about their possible demise out here is real and ever pressing.

  
  


Villanelle seems sluggish today, and Eve assumes it must be a delayed reaction to everything that’s happened, her emotional outburst yesterday, or maybe just a hangover from sleeping so soundly the night before. Whatever it is, Eve feels so full of pent up energy by the afternoon that she thinks she might pop if she doesn’t do something soon.

  
  


“I’m going to take a walk.” She tells Villanelle as she gathers up a few supplies, namely a bottle of water and a thin pack of crackers in case she gets desperate.

  
  


She expects some kind of resistance from Villanelle, or maybe for her to insist on coming with her, but the blonde just waves her off tiredly, muttering something about her afternoon nap and Eve being careful not to get lost.

  
  


Eve hadn’t even considered the possibility of getting lost, not properly, and it’s not until she’s already been walking for some time that she realises how similar everything looks. How identical...

  
  


She turns around, trying to see her way back through the line of trees she’s just come from, but suddenly isn’t quite sure which direction that was at all.

  
  


Shit. 

  
  


Shit, shit, shit.

  
  


And Villanelle is probably deep into her nap by now, hardly likely to be looking for her, or to even notice she’s still gone...

  
  


Eve’s first instinct is to cry. But she quickly decides that crying would be a stupid thing to do for several reasons: firstly because it wouldn’t change anything, and secondly because crying might speed up the process of dehydration. And, again, her fear of dehydration and death in general right now is _real_.

  
  


So Eve holds her tears back and walks on, picking up her pace as she hazards her best guess as to the direction of the tent and Villanelle. Trying the whole time to ignore the stifling, rising panic in her chest.

  
  


It’s sometime later when Eve comes across an overgrown footpath, and it’s then she knows for certain that she’s well and truly lost, because she hasn’t ever seen it before. She picks her way over to it, through the green forest floor, deciding that a footpath is at least some sort of landmark, and also something she can follow.

  
  


She spots a sign, which is part covered by the leaves of a low hanging tree, and reads: **Ambleside 2 miles**.

  
  


The promise of civilisation lifts her a little, and her first thought is that she can’t wait to tell Villanelle... but then she remembers she’s lost, and might never see Villanelle again. And it’s at that moment that she starts to cry.

  
  


She tries to hold it back, sniffling and snivelling as she walks, but as her ankles catch on stinging nettles and brambles, it soon it all becomes too much and she full on sobs. And that reminds her of the last time she cried in group therapy, with Villanelle... and pretty much any thought that leads to Villanelle seems to make the urge to cry even stronger.

  
  


And the more she cries, the more she thinks about dehydrating to death.

  
  


And it’s all just a vicious, hopeless circle, and pretty soon she’s a runny-eyed, runny-nosed mess.

  
  


Eve collapses onto the ground, not even caring about the stinging and the prickling now, not even feeling the small cuts and tingly rash that they leave behind on the exposed skin of her arms. She draws her knees to her chest and resigns herself to wait, for death or Villanelle, whichever finds her first.

  
  


Inevitably of course, the afternoon draws on, finally giving way to evening, and both death and Villanelle are still nowhere to be seen.

  
  


Eve takes a few gulps of her water and eats the last of her crackers before getting rather unsteadily to her feet. The dimming light only brings about a whole new set of worries, and Eve starts to dream up new deathly scenarios for herself, like wolves, or bears, or... clowns.

  
  


Oh God, clowns.

  
  


She drags her feet along the footpath, her eyes darting this way and that, scanning the surrounding trees for anything with teeth, claws or a squeaky red nose.

  
  


And it’s not long after, as the last of the daylight is beginning to sink into the ground, that Eve spots it. A white, erratically flashing beam in the distance. 

  
  


The beam of torch that’s been set to strobe.

  
  


And then she hears it.

  
  


“EVE??? FOR FUCKS SAKE, EVE!!”

  
  


Villanelle’s voice, distant but strong, and as clear as anything to her ears. Eve tries to call back, but words fail her as she starts to cry again, leaking out yet more precious hydration all over the place as she starts to stagger towards Villanelle’s general direction.

  
  


It can only be minutes, five or ten? But it feels like hours before they meet, surrounded by darkness, cricketing bugs and thick foliage. Villanelle’s strobing flashlight bathes them in light, and then darkness, and then light again, making the whole experience seem even more harrowing and surreal.

  
  


Eve drops to knees, still crying, only from relief now rather than fear of death, as Villanelle closes the remaining distance between them in seconds.

  
  


“For fucks sake, Eve!” Villanelle repeats, her hands roaming over Eve’s hair and face as she tries to get a good look her. “What part of _don’t get lost_ did you not understand?! I said it in English and everything!”

  
  


Still sobbing, Eve tries desperately to communicate, but only manages to blurt out a string of mostly unintelligible words that definitely includes: clowns.

  
  


Villanelle pulls back, looking her in the eyes.

  
  


“Did you hit your head again?”

  
  


“N-no...” Eve stutters, sniffling as Villanelle wipes gently at her slowing tears. “I h-hurt my a-arms.”

  
  


“Yeah?” Villanelle asks, immediately checking her arms under the now steady torch beam. “There’s just a few scratches and a nasty nettle rash. Okay? Eve, listen, you’re going to be fine.”

  
  


Eve nods, knowing that whatever Villanelle is saying is true, and that she’s safe, but finds it almost impossible to process the actual words.

  
  


“Come on, can you walk? We need to get back. You’re shaking, Eve? Shit. You really scared me. Eve? _Eve_?”

  
  


And suddenly Eve feels herself being lifted, and that saccharine smell of lemonade, of Villanelle, cocoons all around her. 

  
  


****

  
  


“It’s a good thing you are very tiny, Eve.” Villanelle grunts as she finally deposits Eve into their tent, her arms and legs shaking a little from the strain and exertion of carrying her.

  
  


Eve says nothing, just scrunches up in a hunched seated position on her sleeping bag, her eyes big, black and empty.

  
  


“Thanks so much, Villanelle.” Villanelle mimics in her best New York accent. “You are sooo welcome, Eve.” She responds back, as herself again.

  
  


Nothing. Not even a twitch of Eve’s lips.

  
  


Villanelle pouts to herself, feeling all churned up with strange new feelings again. She feels a little bit annoyed, which isn’t new, that Eve isn’t appreciative of her somewhat heroic and selfless actions. But she also feels very... worried, or maybe concerned... very _something_ anyway, about Eve. 

  
  


And it’s not a nice feeling. 

  
  


Villanelle recognises immediately that she wants this feeling to go away, and that the only way to do that is to make Eve happy again.

  
  


Villanelle considers her options. She doesn’t have a bath, or coffee, or wine, or cigarettes, and she doesn’t think Eve looks to be in a particularly kiss-y sort of mood.

  
  


Inspiration strikes a few seconds later, and Villanelle starts to rummage through one of the rucksacks.

  
  


“Eve... Eve, look.” Villanelle pulls the prize from the rucksack, giving the bag a little shake. “Peanut M&Ms... you know you want them.”

  
  


Eve looks, her mouth softening slightly and her eyes looking a little bit less dull.

  
  


“Here.” Villanelle tears the bag open and picks out an M&M, offering to Eve. “Have a blue one. They have a _lot_ of colourings in and will make you feel a lot better.”

  
  


Eve takes the blue M&M and slowly puts it in her mouth, while Villanelle looks on keenly for some kind of positive reaction.

  
  


“Better?” Villanelle asks when she finally sees Eve swallow.

  
  


“Better.” Eve agrees, her voice still low and gravelly from all the crying. 

  
  


“Hmm, not much better. Maybe you should try a red one next.”

  
  


“I’m okay, Villanelle. Really.” Eve insists, but still takes the red M&M as soon as it’s offered.

  
  


“You are not okay, Eve! You got lost in the woods for God knows how long, and when I found you, you were talking about clowns?”

  
  


“I got scared.”

  
  


“Of the lesser spotted woodland clown?”

  
  


“You’re not funny.”

  
  


Villanelle hears the words, but also sees the slight upward tug on the outer corner of Eve’s lips, and she knows she’s winning.

  
  


She slides over a few more of the sugary M&Ms.

  
  


“I’m only joking, Eve. It was a very worrying time for me too.”

  
  


This seems to catch Eve’s attention now, and she squints at Villanelle as though seeing her for the first time.

  
  


“You...”

  
  


Villanelle tips her head back and waits to be lavished with the inevitable thanks and praise she missed out on earlier.

  
  


“You look frazzled.” Eve says instead, and Villanelle nearly chokes on her own M&M.

  
  


“Wow, Eve! Yes, I am frazzled, and very sweaty! I just carried you for twenty minutes? Remember? And I’m still really not at my best.”

  
  


Eve at least has the good grace to look a little chagrined at that.

  
  


“Sorry, I must seem really ungrateful?”

  
  


Villanelle keeps her face neutral, settling instead for an internal eye roll. Because the answer is of course **yes** , a resounding **yes** to Eve being ungrateful, but she finds herself saying...

  
  


“No, nooo...”

  
  


Because she can’t very well upset Eve again, can she? Not when she’s only just recovering from her traumatic ordeal, and anyway, Villanelle isn’t sure she has enough M&Ms for a relapse.

  
  


“I just keep thinking we’re going to die out here.” Eve says with a shaky exhale.

  
  


“Because of what I said the other morning? That’s why you’re so upset? Eve, I was just being a dick.”

  
  


Villanelle’s fingers twitch as she runs her eyes over Eve’s messy hair. She wants to touch it and stroke it, it seems like that would be a nice thing to do for Eve, comforting maybe.

  
  


“I saw a sign, for a village? I think we should go.” Eve is talking fast now, in that way she does when an idea begins to run away from her. “Maybe we could find somewhere to stay for a few nights?”

  
  


“Yes, Eve, and maybe we could pay them in M&Ms?” Villanelle replies sarcastically, and watches as Eve’s face falls. 

  
  


“Oh yes, I forgot... no money.”

  
  


Villanelle thinks Eve has a cute disappointed face, especially when the disappointment isn’t aimed directly at her.

  
  


“To think you worked for MI6...”

  
  


A scowl follows from Eve, but a weak one, maybe with a tinge of amusement behind it.

  
  


“I am going to touch your hair now.” Villanelle announces suddenly, and Eve laughs a light, tinkly laugh.

  
  


“It's very nice of you to warn me, but you really don't have to...”

  
  


Villanelle gives a half shrug and lifts her hand to Eve’s hair, letting her fingers pull through the soft, slightly knotted curls. A sigh passes Eve’s lips as she leans into it, and her eyes dip on Villanelle’s face.

  
  


And Villanelle is becoming increasingly familiar with _that_ particular look.

  
  


Okay, I’m going to kiss her now, she thinks to herself, and realises in that moment that the warnings are far more for her own benefit than Eve’s. Because she might be feeling a little bit... nervous?

  
  


Bleugh. Nerves. Gross and sloshy in her stomach, and sweaty on her palms. Villanelle really wishes they’d go away, because they seem to seriously disrupt her physical prowess. And Villanelle _always_ has great physical prowess.

  
  


And then it happens, _again_. Eve beats her to it, pulling **her** in for a kiss, and it’s simple and deep, and Eve’s hands are cupping her face, fingers thumbing her skin. 

  
  


Eve breaks away slowly, holding Villanelle’s gaze before her hands drop to her neck, then her shoulders, and suddenly she’s surrounding her. Embracing her.

  
  


Eve is _hugging_ her.

  
  


But it’s not like a regular hug, there’s hot breath on her neck, a nuzzling nose near her ear lobe and warm lips pressed against skin. Eve’s breathing her in, drawing her inside of her, her hands roaming across her back.

  
  


Villanelle can’t stop her muscles from rolling in response, wanting more, wanting less, wanting to stay and wanting to run away, all at the same time. 

  
  


And Eve just stays like that, holding her, inhaling and exhaling against her, burrowing skin against skin.

  
  


“Lie down with me.” Eve whispers, kissing her neck, pushing a gentle hand against her chest.

  
  


Villanelle isn’t about to argue with her, probably couldn’t even if she wanted to at this point. So she leans back, her spine soon meeting solid ground and jarring all her sore spots all over again, pushing a hiss of breath past her teeth.

  
  


Villanelle squirms, attempting to get at least semi-comfortable, as Eve grabs the torch and clicks it off, submerging them in darkness.

  
  


There’s a few seconds of just black before Villanelle feels her move against her again, curling into her side like she’s just meant to be there, the perfect fit. Her head resting in the nook of her shoulder, arm stretching out over her chest, as she lets out long and contented sigh.

  
  


“You’re just going to cuddle me?” Villanelle asks, frowning. Because she knows cuddling, sort of, and it seems to be something that usually happens after sex. Or at least a few people have attempted it after sex with her, when they’re still seeing stars and their limbs are heavy and uncoordinated, and awkward. And it had always felt just that: awkward, and uninvited.

  
  


She’d let it happen a few times, just to see if it would get better, or when she was just too tired or too passive to move out from under them. Those times were usually the worst, the passive times. 

  
  


They felt suffocating.

  
  


But Eve cuddling her doesn’t feel suffocating, it feels nice, and warm and soft. 

  
  


“Is that okay?” Eve’s voice sounds low and muted. So peaceful. “You can relax you know.”

  
  


Relax. Right.

  
  


Villanelle exhales a long breath through pursed lips, pushing past the tightness in her chest, letting her stiff muscles slacken.

  
  


“Yes.” Villanelle answers her finally. “This is okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, okay, so I feel like we're getting into the meat of it now, and actually it's very hard unpicking all their issues. But I'm TRYING.
> 
> Eve - I appreciate her reaction to getting lost seems a bit overkill, however! I felt it was justified, given the hopelessness of their situation, and the stress they're under. I mean, they're pretty much just surviving at this point with no clear way out, right? (Don't remind me, what a writers hole I've dug myself into haha).
> 
> M&Ms - I knowww, I knowww... the world is a boring place now and sweets don't have colourings in anymore. But they do in this fic.
> 
> Ambleside - It's a place. It exists. Google says it's in the Lake District and it's very pretty. Are they in the Lake District(?), I hear you ask. Well. Maybe they are. I don't like to be too pigeonholed by geography though...
> 
> This chapter - the end is actually a rewrite, because I got a little too... overexcited *ahem*... and there may have been a bit more inappropriateness in it. And then I realised it completely bypassed what I was aiming for and it didn't really fit. I have kept some of that stuff though, because I'll probably use it later...
> 
> Pleeeease shout out any ideas you have or things you want to see, I do bring in what I can, and I love to hearing your plot predictions :)


	17. Mushy, Mushy Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welllllllllll....
> 
> It's probably best you just read it and see.
> 
> Oh spoiler: it's a hard chapter for Villanelle this time.

Eve cuddles Villanelle a lot after that, and Villanelle quickly comes to learn there are many different types of cuddles.

There’s the long, sleepy cuddles at night; the quick, squeezy cuddles that come spontaneously, often in the middle of mundane, everyday tasks; there’s the lazy, absentminded cuddles, the ones that Eve doesn’t even seem to realise she’s doing; and there’s the heated, amorous cuddles, where Eve straddles her lap and lets her hands roam.

And Villanelle likes all of them. She even finds herself beginning to miss them and crave them in-between, to the extent that she wonders if she really does have an addictive personality disorder too. And if she does, then she’s definitely, without question, addicted to Eve.

But addiction is scary. It takes away your self-control and leads you in so deep that it’s nearly impossible to find your way back out again. 

So, to combat this, Villanelle has devised herself two golden rules:

  1. Never initiate a cuddle.

  2. Never fall asleep in Eve’s arms.




Simple. 

“Hey.” And here’s Eve, right on cue, her arms circling Villanelle from behind. “Are you alright? You seem quiet this morning.”

Villanelle brings her arms up over Eve’s, holding her in place, head tilting back towards her. 

“Mm, no, I have a headache.” She pouts, one of her very dramatic pouts that downturns her whole lower lip.

“Again?” Eve kisses her temple, with a quick but caring kiss, and Villanelle immediately craves more. “You’re probably not drinking enough water.”

“Well, we haven’t got much left.” Is Villanelle’s sulky reply.

She feels very sulky in general today, actually.

“We need some rain.” Eve agrees with a worried glance towards the cloudy sky.

“I’m bored, can we pla-“

“No!” Eve cuts in immediately. “I’ve already told you, I’m not playing hide and seek with you! Not after what happened.”

Villanelle pouts again and makes a hmph-ing sound.

“Sorry, but I don’t want you out of my sight for even one second. Okay?” Eve whispers the ‘okay’ in her ear, following it up with another kiss to the side of her face. “How about we do something else instead? We could go into Ambleside...”

“And I already told you no about that, too! It’s a really bad idea.” Villanelle grumbles, feeling increasingly irritated, because it must be the third time they’ve had this same conversation now. “We’ve got no cash, remember?”

“I bet you could get us some if you tried...”

Villanelle quirks an eyebrow at that, enjoying the ego boost but also surprised that Eve is suddenly supporting the notion of petty theft - she really must be desperate.

“Maybe. But I know from experience that it’s not quite so easy to pull that sort of thing off when we look like hobos.”

“I think if you check the definition we might actually _be_ hobos now...” Eve responds with a small laugh. Villanelle rolls her eyes, unimpressed. “Okay, okay, so no hide and seek, and no Ambleside. What about... reading some more of Margaret’s book?”

“That would depend on what we are reading about...”

“Well, I was thinking we could see what she suggests next?” Eve pauses, before adding quietly: “Physically, I mean.”

Now _that_ sounds like something worth doing, Villanelle thinks, because it’s about time they moved things into more familiar territory. 

“Yeah?” She keeps her voice calm, feigning minimal interest. “I suppose we could take a look...”

They move to the tent; Eve opens up their sleeping bags, making a cosy, cushioned floor, and Villanelle grabs the book. 

“Alright, so, chapter four, physical intimacy...” Villanelle flips through the pages rapidly. “Blah blah blah, we’ve done the hand holding exercises, the kissing...”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t take a bit more time reading what she has to say? So we know why we’re doing... stuff.”

“I know _exactly_ why I’ll be doing stuff, Eve.”

Eve fixes her with a hard expression.

“Villanelle, this is important.”

“I know! And I’m taking it very seriously. Look.” Villanelle points to her face. “Serious.”

“Hmm.” 

“Anyway.” Villanelle continues pointedly, looking back at the book. “There’s a few exercises here, there’s - oh. Oh wow. I had no idea Margaret was so-“

“Give that to me!” Eve pulls the book from Villanelle’s hands and begins to read aloud. “Take time getting to know each other’s body, and what feels good. You can use... _oh_...”

“You got to the whipped cream bit didn’t you.”

“Yes. Whipped cream _or_ honey to... oh. Ohh, oh God...”

Villanelle makes a thoughtful face.

“We don’t have any whipped cream or honey?”

“I think that’s probably for the best.” Eve says with an awkward clearing of her throat.

“We have some peanut butter lef-“

“No!”

“Alright, Eve, I was just putting it out there...”

“Let’s try something else, like um, like this. See?” Eve holds the book in between them. “Body mapping. That looks a lot less messy.”

“A lot less _fun_ you mean...”

“Villanelle!?”

“Right. Sorry.” She plasters a big smile on her face. “Body mapping looks super fun!”

Eve ignores her, tapping the book again in an attempt keep Villanelle focused.

“We have to decide which of us is going to do the mapping. She calls them the ’dominant hand’.”

“Dominant hand? Well that’s me, clearly.” 

“It has criteria to help us decide... ha! Age. Right at the top, see? So that’s me.”

“I want to be the dominant hand!” Villanelle whines with what can only be described as a completely disproportionate level of disappointment.

“Tough.”

“Fine. What am I called then?”

“Err...” Eve goes over the page again, scanning rapidly. “I don’t think you have a _specific_ name...”

Villanelle whines again.

“That’s rude!”

“I’m sorry.” Eve slips a comforting hand over her knee. “If you like, you can be my submissive assistant?”

“Ughhh, _Eve_ , that is SO LAME!”

Eve shakes her head, laughing.

“You can be such a child! It’s just a silly name, it doesn’t mean anything?”

“Well that’s easy for _you_ to say, you’re the dominant hand!”

“Right, well, let’s move on...” Eve says quickly, with a widening of her eyes. “So, I’ll just slowly explore, as it were, and if you want you can give me feedback, you know if places are sensitive or -“

“Eve, is this really necessary? I can tell you _exactly_ what’s sensi-“

“And I can’t touch you below the waist.”

Villanelle’s mouth falls open and her forehead collapses into a frown.

“But, but then... what’s the... _point_?”

Eve slams the book shut.

“You’re being a right asshole today!”

“Excuse me?!”

“It’s supposed to bring us _closer_ , to build _trust_ and _intimacy_ and... _God_! I sometimes wonder why I bother!”

“Ohhh, I see... so it’s more of the mushy, mushy stuff...” Villanelle grumbles with a roll of her eyes. 

Eve folds her arms.

“So, you don’t think the mushy, mushy stuff is important then?”

Villanelle hesitates, sensing that she might be on very precarious ground here.

“Ummmm... yes?”

“Yes you think it’s important, or yes you agree, that you don’t think it’s important?”

Villanelle rubs at her face, her headache shifting to that really unpleasant space behind her eyes. 

“This is getting very stressful for me, Eve.”

“Look, all you have to do, is lie back and let me touch you. Can you do that? Without being a dick?”

“I mean... _probably_?”

Eve sighs. 

“Probably is good enough, I guess.”

****

Eve’s nerves don’t kick in until Villanelle starts to take off her clothes. 

The removal itself is casual, ordinary even. The same way you would undress at the end of a long day, or before you hop into the shower. Villanelle tugs the hoodie over her head, struggling momentarily when it snags on her bun, before finally succeeding and throwing it into crumpled ball in the corner.

Her dark T-shirt follows, coming off in a flash, revealing her scarlet red bra and the canvas of bruises that still litter her skin.

Eve feels her breath catch in her throat as Villanelle goes to remove her bra, and suddenly puts her hands up to stop her.

“Don’t, I want to. Later.” She whispers, and Villanelle simply shrugs, before finally lying back on the sleeping bag floor with her hands behind her head.

She looks so relaxed and confident, so sure of herself and her body. And Eve feels not only envious, but also incredibly turned on.

“So, what now, Eve?” Villanelle drawls out lazily, glancing down at herself. “I’m ready, and submissive, just like you asked...”

And Eve feels her face flushing as she nervously considers her options. 

“Okay, do... do you still have a headache?”

Villanelle looks confused by the question, as though it’s completely irrelevant to the task at hand.

“Well yeah, but I mean I’m fine to do this.”

“I know, but I’ll start at your head, then.”

“ _Why_? That’s completely the wrong... ohh...” Villanelle trails off as Eve suddenly straddles her hips. “What are you-“

“Ssh, put your arms down.”

“Okay...”

Villanelle drops her arms to her sides, and Eve immediately sinks her own hands into her hair, raking her fingertips from the front of her hairline towards the back of her head.

Villanelle frowns up at her, looking utterly puzzled by the whole experience.

“No?” Eve asks, and Villanelle gives a little shake of her head. 

“I don’t really get what-“

Eve changes tact immediately, drawing, small lackadaisical circles over her scalp, and the change is immediate. Villanelle’s expression softens, eyelids drooping.

“Ooh... Eve...”

“Better?”

A nod, eyes now closed.

“Good.” 

Eve continues the circles for a while, and thinks how she could probably get away with literally doing just this and Villanelle would be happy; but there’s so much more she wants to try, a whole continent of Villanelle to familiarise herself with.

She moves to her hands to Villanelle’s earlobes, thumbing the soft skin, circling the shell of her outer ear, and Villanelle cracks open one, enquiring eye.

“I don’t like that, Eve.”

Eve bites back a smile, forever bemused by Villanelle’s unabashed directness.

“Okay...” She diverts her attention to Villanelle’s face, taking a moment to admire the smooth, utter perfection of her skin, and then running an index finger from centre of Villanelle’s forehead all the way round her jawline to the elegant curve of her chin. 

“It’s a beautiful face, yes?” Villanelle pipes up, hazel eyes now open and wide with expectation.

“Yes.” Eve laughs softly. “For the hundredth time. Yes.” She brushes a finger over Villanelle’s left cheek, up to her eyebrow and over the dark trail of freckles that finish there. “I like these.” 

“Hmm?” Villanelle’s eyes move right over to the left, as though trying to do the impossible and see them for herself.

“God, don’t hurt yourself! Your freckles.”

“Eve! They’re _beauty spots_.” She says, practically aghast at Eve’s mistake. 

“Fine. Your _beauty spots_ , then.” Eve drops her eyes to her mouth. “And your mouth.”

“Mm, well, I hear that _a lot,_ but usually during or afte-“

“Villanelle? This isn't the time?”

“Right.”

Eve sighs and fixes Villanelle with a look of warning before she proceeds. 

“I know you like having your neck kissed already...” She says thoughtfully, planting a few careless kisses there anyway, which gets a soft moan from Villanelle as predicted.

“I do...”

Eve lets her hands run over Villanelle’s collarbone, learning every slope and nook, her hands eventually sliding over her shoulders and easing under her bra straps.

“Eve...” Villanelle squirms a bit underneath her, and Eve feels the balance of power begin to shift, her nerves receding slightly as she sees Villanelle’s calm exterior beginning to crack, just a little.

“Mm, do you want me to take it off now?”

“Yes.”

“Well...” Eve lifts them again, sliding her fingers down, so they rest just above the cups and then pulling back. “I’m not going to. Not yet, anyway.”

Villanelle lets out a disgruntled sigh, wriggling again, presumably to try and take her mind of Eve’s stalling hands.

“Bit mean...” She says eventually, as Eve leans down, dotting a few kisses across her upper chest by way of apology.

“I know...”

Eve’s hands trail very gently over Villanelle’s lower ribs, barely touching the plum coloured bruises and avoiding the dressed wound altogether. They serve as reminders of her humanity and vulnerability, and Eve finds feels both endeared and intrigued by these typically hidden parts of her. 

She kisses her ribs then, marking each individual bone, and Villanelle makes soft, hitched noises, like she doesn’t know whether to anticipate pleasure or pain.

“Still so sore.” Eve acknowledges quietly and Villanelle responds with a sorrowful nod. 

Eve moves lower, letting the curtain of her hair trail over Villanelle’s abdomen, and the blonde shudders in response, body lifting slightly under her. Curious, Eve follows up with her fingers, dancing them down past her navel, running them along the horizon of her black trousers and the edging of her underwear.

And Villanelle moans, it’s short and clipped like she’s trying to stop herself but Eve definitely hears her, her ears and eyes on high alert for even the tiniest of tells.

“Figures you’d like that.” Eve smirks, because of course the furthest point she can reach gets the biggest reaction, and then she sees it. Over to the left hand side, previously camouflaged by the blood and bruises - her scar.

Thickened, shiny skin, glinting at her. 

Eve can’t take her eyes off it, mesmerised by the inlet she made inside of her, the damage she’s caused. 

“I still get phantom pains.” Villanelle says then, somewhat proudly. “Just little zaps now and then, like the knife is still buried deep, deep in there.”

The idea of this should probably fill Eve with guilt, but it doesn’t. She feels almost giddy with excitement, and maybe even desire. 

“I never apologised to you.” Eve says now, allowing herself to touch it, to feel the ridge of imperfection beneath her fingertips.

Villanelle shifts but holds her gaze.

“Are you going to say sorry to me now?”

And of course it takes Eve back to her kitchen, to the coffee mugs full of champagne. To Villanelle in her ridiculously over the top mourning dress, and to herself wearing the flimsiest of shirts, her protective vest recklessly abandoned in the bedroom upstairs.

Only it hadn’t felt reckless at the time, it had felt planned, risky yes, of course, but exhilaratingly so.

“No.” Eve answers just as briskly as the first time. “I’m not.” 

Villanelle smiles, her head dropping back down as Eve presses a long kiss over her scar. 

“Good...”

Eve casts her gaze back to her chest, to the rise and fall of her breathing, the curve of her bra as it dips and yields in all the right places.

“Undo it.” Eve finds herself saying, her voice steadier than she herself can believe, far steadier then she feels.

Villanelle looks at her for a moment, eyes heady yet curious. She does as she’s told, twisting one arm behind her with a barely contained wince, and Eve feels a pang of guilt this time at causing her any kind of pain. But the moment passes as soon as it arrives, and Villanelle’s bra is slack, although still shielding its contents.

Eve feels the butterflies in her stomach multiplying like she’s never experienced before. It’s as though a batch of brand new, baby butterflies have just woke up, and they’re all excitedly fluttering and stretching their wings out at the exact same time.

And Eve thinks that maybe she’s only just waking up too, because she’s spent her whole life feeling only half of what she feels when she’s with Villanelle, which - side note - brings about a whole new meaning to the word halfhearted...

“Eve?”

Villanelle brings her back to herself, and Eve regards her for several seconds more, just lying there, like a present that’s only been partially unwrapped.

Villanelle coughs then, a dry, weak cough, that startles Eve out of reverie for a second time.

“Erm, sorry, are you okay?” She asks her, although her attention is still well and truly fixated on her chest.

“My throat tickles.” Villanelle complains with another cough, and Eve finds herself reaching rather absentmindedly behind herself for a bottle from their diminishing supply. “Here, have a drink.”

Villanelle sips at the water, and then spills a rather significant amount of it down her front.

“Oops.” She says innocently, and all Eve can do is stare at her, completely slack jawed. “I’m all wet now, Eve, I-“

“Stop talking.”

Villanelle’s mouth tightens, like she’s still really fighting the urge to speak, and Eve wastes no further time in pulling off her bra, her patience now as saturated as Villanelle’s heaving chest.

“That was cheating.” Eve admonishes her, her dark eyes going wide as they drift over Villanelle’s exposed breasts, marvelling at the contrast of creamy white skin against the carnation pink of her nipples.

They’re perfect. More perfect than they have any right to be. And unlike Eve’s own, where one is most definitely smaller than the other, Villanelle’s are like mirror images and quite indistinguishable in their proportions.

Villanelle lifts herself slightly, letting the pooled water run down her breasts and onto her toned stomach, and Eve groans. _Eve groans_ , and it should definitely be the other way round!

“Lie down.” Eve pushes on Villanelle’s shoulder, forcing her to submit again. “I want to look at you.”

“Touch me, Eve?”

Eve debates her request, her hands still resting against Villanelle’s clavicle.

“I don’t know, I told you very specifically to not be a dick...”

“I wasn’t... I’m sorry... I didn’t...” Villanelle flounders, her eyes big and pleading. 

Eve narrows her eyes at her momentarily, but then drops her gaze back to her damp chest and the water still beading between her breasts. 

It’s not really a conscious thought when she does finally reach out, her fingers initially grazing the supple skin, but soon dimpling it as she sweeps around Villanelle’s breasts slow and smooth, feeling the weight of them against her palms.

Villanelle moans beneath her, head tipping back, her reactions still registering with Eve, but less intrusively than they were before.

Eve feels highly focused as her thumb brushes over the nipples on Villanelle’s right breast, watching as it darkens and swells, and then she leans in, tonguing at two nearby water droplets, before doing the same to the ravine of spilt water between her breasts.

Villanelle arches, hips pressing into Eve from underneath, and she moans again, her own hands now beginning reach needily into thin air.

Eve considers that she probably wants to touch herself, in the absence of Eve’s hands going down that far, but Eve’s position is obstructing her, and the knowledge of that is both exhilarating and satisfying.

Eve draws back slowly, taking Villanelle’s grasping hands in her own, bringing them to her face. She kisses the backs of them, before settling them in her lap, Villanelle’s fingers still twitching.

“I think that’s enough for now, don’t you?”

The noise Villanelle makes then can hardly be described, but to Eve it sounds almost destitute.

“I am going to _burst_ , Eve!” Villanelle tells her, her eyes bigger than Eve’s ever seen them, like saucers, her pupils stretching across them. “Can I-“

“No.”

“But-“

“No!” Eve repeats, trying to hold back her laughter.

“Oh, fuck.” Villanelle groans, pulling her hands away from Eve to cover her face, breathing out several long, hot breaths into the space between them.

“Things could have been worse for you, you know.” Eve points out with a smirk, and Villanelle lifts her arms ever so slightly to look at her.

“How. How could it _possibly_ be worse than _this_ , Eve?”

“Well...I could have used the peanut butter.”

****

The rain comes, and it comes down hard.

It’s not quite the release Villanelle needs or is hoping for, but it is a release of sorts, and the temperature drop it brings with it is certainly welcome.

Villanelle’s hands are restless, knotting this way and that in her lap, and she still feels that almost tender heaviness between her legs too. At this point, not being able to address it is simply maddening. 

And Eve is sitting across from her, oh so casually eating some heaped peanut butter on a slightly stale bread roll. It’s a deliberate choice no doubt, the peanut butter, to get under her skin. And Villanelle finds herself unable to watch as Eve brings it to her mouth.

Eve’s mouth.

Fuck. Again.

Villanelle sighs rather forlornly to herself, because common sense tells her she’s already utterly ruined, if this is the state she’s in after Eve has done so little to her body.

“Do you want some?” Eve asks, holding out the half-eaten roll, a smear of peanut butter on her fingers.

Villanelle’s voice is almost hoarse when she replies with what’s supposed to be a firm:

“ **No**.”

“You look pale, you need to eat something.”

Villanelle snorts, surprised at Eve’s nerve.

“Well that’s probably because all my blood has rushed to my-“

“Hey!” Eve cuts her off with a giggly laugh. “Come on, you’re not still... _you know_ , are you?”

Villanelle blinks heavily at her.

“If you’re asking if I am still _horny_ and _on the edge_ , then yes, Eve, _fuck._ Yes.”

“Ohhh...” Eve acknowledges slowly, eyes trailing over Villanelle’s fidgety body. “Well, can I do anything to take your mind off it?”

“You could lay off the peanut butter?”

“Right. That was a bit...insensitive, I suppose.”

“Mm.”

Villanelle sighs again and hunches forward, so that her elbows rest on her knees and her hands cup her face. She closes her eyes, and tries to think really unattractive and off-putting thoughts.

Like:

Flying economy.

Konstantin and his toilet smells.

Premier Inns.

Public transport.

Creepy Julian talking to his doll collection.

Creepy Julian putting his fingers in her mouth.

Creepy Julian.

Creepy Julian.

Creepy Julian.

And it’s working, it’s definitely working, it’s -

“Villanelle, are you getting wet?”

“OH MY GOD, EVE?! _SERIOUSLY_?” 

Eve's expression changes to one of a gasping fish.

“NO! No, that’s not, I didn’t mean _you_! I mean, I did but, what I meant was _I’m_ _getting wet_! Wait, no, that’s, I, err-“

“I SWEAR TO GODDD!”

“Shit, sorry...” Eve trails off hopelessly and takes a deep breath, before speaking in a completely unintelligible rush: “Ithinkthetentisleaking.” A pause as she recollects herself. “The tent. Is Leaking. I think.”

_Oh_.

“And that’s why I’m wet. From the tent.” Eve clarifies with an awkward clearing of her throat, and a nervous finger pointing towards the roof. “It’s dripping. A lot.”

Villanelle looks up at the wonky construction just in time for a particularly large droplet to hit her square in the forehead. 

“Oh for fucks sake!”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, you lovely lot!
> 
> I can't believe I'm 17 chapters in... I didn't ever think I'd get this far. And I'm still going!!
> 
> I hope this part was okay?? I've no idea if I got the physical scene down alright, it took me quite a long time to write (well, some parts were quicker than others lol) because I was trying to think of it from both sides. And I didn't really plan for poor Villanelle to end up left so desperately hanging... but I think she would be, because it's EVE. Yeah.


	18. Is It Different?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for my slowness, this one just took an age to get started... and then it took shape, and I think (and HOPE) it all came together in the end!!

  
It keeps raining. It rains all night, and all day, and into the next night too. 

  
  


Everything is soggy, cold and miserable.

  
  


Eve and Villanelle are soggy, cold and miserable. And their leaky, lopsided tent only seems to get more leaky and more lopsided as time goes on.

  
  


Sleep comes in bits and pieces, and Villanelle has to bend golden rule number two slightly because it’s too cold and too damp to sleep alone. So she occasionally doses in Eve’s arms, but only for a short while before waking again with a jolt.

  
  


“Trouble sleeping?” Eve whispers, the next time it happens, her arm tightening its hold round Villanelle’s middle, and her face nuzzling into her back. 

  
  


Villanelle groans, from tiredness, from coldness, from Eve’s closeness. And she gets that very distinct feeling in the pit of her stomach that things are starting to unravel, that she’s beginning to lose control of everything, inside and out.

  
  


“We need to leave here.” Her own voice sounds distant and quiet, almost drowned out by the rain that hammers so relentlessly around them.

  
  


“What?” 

  
  


Villanelle gingerly shifts round onto her other, more tender side so that she’s facing Eve. It’s too dark to make out much more than her silhouette, but she can feel Eve’s slow, warm breaths on her face and the occasional tickle of her hair.

  
  


“First thing tomorrow, we’ll get out of here and head for that village.”

  
  


“Ambleside? But what about-“

  
  


“I’ll sort it.”

  
  


There’s a rustle of material and then Eve’s hand is on her face, brushing back the stray hairs that have fallen there and tucking them behind her ear. Villanelle wonders if Eve’s eyes can see better than hers, or if she’s just that familiar with certain parts of her body now that she can blindly navigate her way around them.

  
  


“ _How_ will you sort it?” Eve persists, her curiosity as persistent as ever. “I don’t want you doing anything dangerous. You’re still recovering.”

  
  


Villanelle rolls her eyes, but then remembers Eve probably can’t see them.

  
  


“So, you don’t want me doing anything dangerous but you also want me to steal money from people? Greattt logic, Eve!”

  
  


“Are we fighting now? I don’t want us to fight.”

  
  


“No, we’re not fighting.” Villanelle grumbles, but mainly because fighting with Eve would require a lot of energy and commitment that she really doesn’t have at 2am in the morning. Or whatever stupid time it is.

  
  


“You’re cranky.” Eve advises, as though she’s just made an official assessment. 

  
  


“Yes, Eve. I am.” Villanelle speaks with clipped frustration. “Very cranky.”

  
  


Eve makes some soft mews, her fingertips smoothing out the wrinkles on Villanelle’s forehead. It’s annoyingly nice, and it gives Villanelle that caged wild animal feeling. Only it’s confusing, because she kind of likes the cage now, and also kind of likes being stroked through the bars.

  
  


Eve is taming her, maybe.

  
  


“Just think, this time tomorrow we could be all tucked up in a nice hotel room.” Eve soothes, planting a soft kiss on her lips. “No more leaky, cold tent.”

  
  


The thought is appeasing, and Villanelle closes her eyes, nuzzling a little further into Eve’s hair, which smells a lot like rain, just like everything does right now, but also a lot like Eve.

  
  


“Tell me more about the nice hotel room?”

  
  


Eve laughs softly.

  
  


“Okay, well, it’ll have a huge, comfy bed, with those little chocolates on the pillows? The en-suite will be big too, with a walk-in shower, and there’ll be a coffee machine for me, and a big flatscreen TV we can watch movies on...”

  
  


They both fall asleep sometime into the second verse of Eve’s lengthy description, when her words have begun to slow and her over-analytical mind starts to get hung up on really minute details, like how many pillows are on the bed, and what shape they are, and whether the coffee beans will be a light or dark roast - because apparently it matters, although Villanelle loses track as to why.

  
  


When morning comes things are still soggy and cold, but they’re maybe a little less miserable, because they now have a plan. And a new plan brings new hope.

  
  


They don’t bother taking the tent down, opting to leave the sagging structure exactly where it is for prosperity’s sake, but they do take the rucksacks, filled with what remains of their dwindling food supply and a few more sets of relatively clean clothes.

  
  


The hours walk to Ambleside is mostly quiet, although Villanelle does cough and moan quite a bit about her ribs, which seem to be extra sore again today after another night on a rock hard forest floor. Eve is sympathetic of course, but perhaps not quite as much as Villanelle would like, having grown accustomed to being the sole focus of Eve’s attention for the last few days. 

  
  


Now Eve’s focus is Ambleside, and what they’ll do when they get there, and what cover story they’re going to use to explain the sorry state they’re in.

  
  


“Try and look natural.” Are Villanelle’s last words to Eve when they finally exit the surrounding woodland, and slip into the pokey little village. 

  
  


Fortunately it’s not hard to blend in, as there’s numerous other people with rucksacks too, who are presumably setting off for a long day of hiking. Although Villanelle notes that they look a lot less bedraggled than they do, having probably had a decent nights sleep in an actual bed and access to a shower.

  
  


Villanelle leads Eve over to the side of a building and unceremoniously drops her heavy bag at her feet.

  
  


“Right. You wait here. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  
  


Eve looks suddenly panicked.

  
  


“What? But I thought I’d be coming with you? To help?”

  
  


“ _You want to help me rob people_? Eve, it’s not really a two woman job... it’s more of a one, stealthy woman job, and you are not very stealthy. No offence.”

  
  


“I can be stealthy!”

  
  


Oh here we go, Villanelle thinks, rolling her eyes.

  
  


“Eve, I said no offence! So don’t get offended? Look, if you want to help why don’t you sit here with Stuart’s baseball cap in front of you? People might just throw money at you! I think that’s probably more your style.”

  
  


“VILLANELLE?! I am not _begging_!”

  
  


“Why not? People in London do it all the time! Did you know that some of them are secret millionaires? It is clearly a great way to make money!”

  
  


“I...” Eve shakes her head. “I can’t even speak to you right now.”

  
  


“If anyone talks to you, tell them something that will make them feel sorry for you, okay? Like how our dog Moustache died.”

  
  


“Please. Just go.”

  
  


“I’m going... but don’t forget to put the baseball cap out? For the money.”

  
  


“VILLANELLE!”

  
  


****

  
  


Eve does not put the baseball cap out, she instead spends her time sulking and reading a bit more of Margaret’s book, which basically tells her that as an addictive and obsessive personality type she’s highly likely to be neglectful of her partner’s needs, making her relationships more likely to breakdown.

  
  


Terrific.

  
  


Eve thinks of Niko then, and how she’d neglected him long before her obsession with Villanelle had started. Like the time he’d gotten sick on their holiday in Bali, and she’d left him alone in the hotel room all day because she’d got a full itinerary of places she wanted to visit, and she really didn’t want to miss out on seeing the Besakih temple and sampling a cup of Kopi Luwak - a famous local coffee. By the time she’d returned to the hotel that evening he’d been completely delirious, and they’d had to call an ambulance. She’d been so worried then, worried about whether he was going to pull through, worried about whether he was going to be mad at her for leaving him on his own all day, but still...

  
  


...she hadn’t felt _guilty_ about visiting the temple, or about drinking the exquisite coffee, not in the slightest.

  
  


“God, I’m selfish.” Eve mumbles to herself, putting her head in her hands. 

  
  


And Eve wonders how she became so selfish, because she’s always thought of herself as a good, kind person. Maybe not the sort of person to put herself out for other people _all_ _the time_ , because she can’t really remember the last thing she did purely for someone else... except maybe when she gave Bear one of her Kit Kat fingers, that had been quite generous, hadn’t it?

  
  


Ugh. And then she thinks that even Villanelle is more thoughtful than she is - sending her a _birthday cake_ and a _special princess bear_. And who did she last buy a birthday cake for?? 

  
  


She can’t even remember what they did Niko’s birthday last year.

  
  


She was probably working.

  
  


Eve sighs, and glumly concludes that her life has just slowly become incredibly self-centred over the last few years.

  
  


“Ohhh, Eveee!” Villenelle calls brightly as she approaches, one arm loaded with shopping bags and the other tucked behind her back. “Have you seriously just been sitting there for the past three hours?”

  
  


“Have you seriously just been shopping?” Eve throws back, eyeing the numerous bags in only slight disbelief, because of course Villanelle has been shopping.

  
  


“I needed new clothes.” Villanelle replies with a momentary pout. “I got you something.”

  
  


“You did?”

  
  


And here she is again, taking the award for most thoughtful, Eve thinks.

  
  


“I found Starbucks!” Villanelle beams, revealing a large cup from behind her back. “Black, medium-roasted, two sugars.”

  
  


“Oh my God!” Eve takes the cup like it’s the most precious thing on Earth. “I love you!” There’s a very awkward pause, before she adds: “...for bringing me coffee, I mean.”

  
  


“Right.” Villanelle clears her throat, looking briefly to the floor. “Sooo, do you want to know how I did? With the stealing?”

  
  


“I’m assuming it went well.” Eve laughs, looking at the shopping bags again. 

  
  


“So well!” Villanelle nods enthusiastically, handing one of the larger bags over. “Take a look.”

  
  


Eve peers into the top of the bag, there’s several items of folded, brightly coloured clothing at the bottom and about seven or eight purses and wallets scattered over the top of them. One of them is a Hello Kitty purse.

  
  


“Did you steal from a child?” Eve asks with a frown.

  
  


“Err, yes? _Obviously?_ They’re the best people to steal from.“

  
  


Seeing Eve’s blank expression Villanelle continues.

  
  


“Kids can’t have credit cards, right? So they always have cash. Old people are good for cash too.”

  
  


“So your primary targets are children and the elderly?!”

  
  


Villanelle pulls a face and shrugs.

  
  


“Well, when you say it like that it sounds bad...”

  
  


“ _It is bad!_ ”

  
  


“Meh.” Villenelle waves her off, her shoulders slumping. “Can we find a nice hotel now? I _really_ want a shower.”

  
  


It turns out that nice hotels and Ambleside don’t seem to coexist together, but what they do find is a reasonably priced bed and breakfast, run by a sweet old lady called Barbara.

  
  


“Oh my, what in heaven’s name happened to the two of you?” Barbara asks as ushers them into her narrow hallway. It’s a bit dark and her furniture and décor look like they’ve been frozen in time for at least forty years, but it’s not a tent so Eve isn’t about to complain.

  
  


“We, err, got lost in the woods.” Eve offers weakly.

  
  


“For two weeks. We ran out of food and everything!” Villanelle jumps in, pointing a thumb in Eve’s direction. “She used to be fat.”

  
  


“Fuck off.” Eve mouths at Villanelle silently.

  
  


“Oh your poor dears.” Barbara coos sadly, giving Eve a particularly sympathetic look. “You’re just skin and bone! That won’t do at all. Do you know I’ve just made a lovely Victoria Sponge, why don’t you take some up to your room with you? I can make you some corned beef sandwiches to go with it too.”

  
  


“Oooooohhhhh...” Villanelle exclaims with that ridiculous, exaggerated face she makes. Eve would elbow her in the ribs if they weren’t so bruised already.

  
  


“That would be lovely, thanks.” Eve smiles. 

  
  


“Now, it’s £10 a night, £15 if you want a cooked breakfast.” Barbara continues, as she reaches for a red book and pen from the shelf behind her. “I’ll need your names and the payment up front.”

  
  


“Um, right, well I’m...”

  
  


“She’s Gretchen, I’m Charlotte.” Villanelle pitches in without missing a beat. 

  
  


Gretchen - Eve grimaces, but supposes it’s Villanelle’s payback for being bestowed with Veronica last time.

  
  


“Ohh, Charlotte! How lovely, just like the princess.” Barbara smiles as she makes a note in the guest book, and Villanelle practically preens. “How many nights?”

  
  


“Four.” Villanelle says as she pulls out a wad of stolen cash. “And we’ll take the cooked breakfasts too.”

  
  


****

  
  


They lie on the bed, both post-shower and wrapped in matching sea blue towels. Villanelle had wondered if in all the excitement they’d end up in the shower together, but they hadn’t. 

  
  


Eve had gone first, following an intense, deciding game of rock, paper, scissors, and Villanelle had used her time alone to put her new clothes away and to count up what’s now left of their stolen money. 

  
  


It’s not a lot, a bit over £70, and Villanelle knows it won’t go far once they start to buy their lunches and dinners.

  
  


She releases a long, heavy sigh, and Eve immediately rolls towards her.

  
  


“What’s wrong?”

  
  


“Nothing.”

  
  


“Villanelle?”

  
  


She offers a shrug, not wanting to burden Eve with her worries, not when they’ve just reached a salvation, of sorts.

  
  


“It’s not the hotel you had in mind, is it?” Eve asks then, as though she thinks that must be what’s bothering her. “I promise when we get back on our feet we’ll stay somewhere really nice, okay?” Eve shifts even closer now, her head of damp curls pressing into Villanelle’s shoulder. “Four stars at least, and with a pool, maybe.”

  
  


“And a hot tub.” Villanelle adds, because she does like the idea of kissing Eve in a hot tub. “But I don’t mind this.” She says, shrugging again. “I don’t mind where we stay.”

  
  


Eve lifts her head a little, eyebrows going up.

  
  


“I’m sorry, I seem to remember someone getting in a sulk about staying in a Premier Inn not so long ago?“

  
  


“Yeah well, things have changed.”

  
  


“You mean you’ve lowered your standards?” Eve gasps dramatically and puts her hand over her mouth.

  
  


“Shut up. I still like nice things, and Premier Inns are still gross.”

  
  


“But...?”

  
  


Villanelle shifts towards Eve, craving the warmth of her body and wishing she’d not made up golden rule number one - no initiating cuddles - because a cuddle would feel really good right about now.

  
  


“It just doesn’t matter where we stay...” Villanelle says quickly, mumbling the next part of her sentence and trying not to outwardly cringe at herself. “...if we’re together.”

  
  


Eve laughs, a long, surprised laugh that seems to bounce off the ugly, floral wallpaper and echo all around them.

  
  


“ _Oh my God_ , did you actually just say that!?”

  
  


“Piss off.” Villanelle turns her head away, feeling a rush of heat in her cheeks.

  
  


“Oh! No! Villanelle, I’m only joking!” Eve insists now, although she’s still giggling, as she twists herself around, resting half of her body on Villanelle’s as her hands reach for her face. “Hey, look at me? That was really sweet. _You’re_ _really sweet._ ”

  
  


“I am not.” Villanelle protests grumpily, still refusing to look at her.

  
  


“You are. You’re sweet and you’re thoughtful.” 

  
  


Villanelle snorts, not believing that for a second because Eve is surely the first person to say it in the history of, well, _ever_.

  
  


“I am not sweet and I am not thoughtful either. Unless you count when I think about how much I’m going to make it hurt when I kill someone.”

  
  


Eve shakes her head.

  
  


“Getting me a coffee earlier? That was pretty sweet and thoughtful.”

  
  


Villanelle screws her face up, not particularly enamoured by the reminder of how soft she’s become.

  
  


“Maybe I was just sick of hearing you go on and on about not having one.”

  
  


“You can tell yourself that if it makes it makes you feel better.” Eve smiles, looking at her with these big, sparkly eyes. “But I know the truth.”

  
  


“Whatever. I’m tired.” Villanelle yawns into her palm as though to prove her point. “Believe what you want.”

  
  


“I will.” 

  
  


Eve rests her head on Villanelle’s chest for all of two seconds before lifting it up to look at her again.

  
  


“God, Eve. What now?”

  
  


“I... I just realised we’re half-naked.”

  
  


Villanelle peers down at their bodies, at her towel riding up to her thighs and then to Eve’s, which has become partially unravelled with all her rolling about, leaving a gap of skin showing all the way down her side.

  
  


“Huh.” 

  
  


Villanelle tears her eyes away from the exposed trail of Eve’s skin just long enough to meet her eyes again. She’s not sure what she sees there, maybe a mixture of uncertainty and desire, but she feels Eve’s breath quicken against her chest and that’s all the permission she needs.

  
  


Not about to be outdone this time, Villanelle rolls Eve over onto her back, smiling at the little squeak of surprise that catches in the back of the brunette’s throat. 

  
  


And this is more like it, Villanelle thinks as she hovers above her, because now that she’s in the driving seat, she feels a lot more comfortable and calm. 

  
  


Whereas Eve looks like she’s about to hyperventilate, as she asks:

  
  


“What are you-“

  
  


Villanelle captures Eve’s mouth with her own before she can say another word, finds herself grasping Eve’s wrists and drawing them up, so that her hands rest beside her head. She can’t stop kissing her now, her lips running away with themselves as they follow the curve of her jawline, and the slope of her neck, and then they’re back to her mouth again. 

  
  


She keeps the kisses light and teasing, the tip of tongue dipping in and out, and she wants more. So much more.

  
  


“Vill...” Eve can’t even finish her name, the ending getting lost in her soft pants and moans. “Your towel.” She manages finally, and Villanelle draws back to take stock of herself.

  
  


Her towel has fallen completely open, and it’s just hanging over her back like some sort of weird, redundant cape. Villanelle shrugs it off her shoulders and drops it over the side of the bed with a heavy thud; and then waits, lets Eve look at her, every last bit of her, until she hears another moan.

  
  


“Fuck.” Eve says simply, as Villanelle lowers her now naked body back down over the top of her, kissing her again but harder this time. Her hands grabbing at the edges of Eve’s towel, feeling its material, rough and bubbly, getting in her way.

  
  


“Can I?” She whispers into Eve’s mouth as her fingers slide under the towel’s hem. A nod from Eve, and the towel is coming off, revealing a forever of warm, golden skin and oh, her breasts. Villanelle’s eyes get stuck there, drawn to their small, dark caramel circles, wanting to touch and taste every inch of her.

  
  


But then...

  
  


Something shifts, like the first crack in the ice that’s going to set off a whole avalanche.

  
  


Unwelcome thoughts start rushing through her mind: like how do you touch someone when you _care_ about them, when you want to _show them_ that you care about them? Is it still called fucking when there are feelings involved? And if so, how do you even concentrate on fucking them without all your feelings getting in the way?

  
  


“Hey.” Eve reaches out to touch her face, bringing them eye to eye again. “Where’d you go?”

  
  


Villanelle drops her forehead onto Eve’s shoulder, and there’s so much skin touching skin it makes her head swim.

  
  


“What is it?” Eve repeats, her arms circling Villanelle’s bare back.

  
  


“I just want this to be right.”

  
  


“Mmm.” Eve murmurs in agreement. “Well, it feels right to me. But if it doesn’t feel right for you yet, then that’s okay.”

  
  


Villanelle’s top lip curls, because ugh this is an incredibly painful situation to be in, to actually be turning down sex, and sex with Eve no less.

  
  


“It _does_ feel right.” Villanelle insists as she lifts her head again. “But...I think I need a bit more time. Maybe.”

  
  


Eve narrows her eyes suspiciously.

  
  


“Is this payback for the other night? When I left you all...”

  
  


“Horny?” Villanelle asks, and Eve nods, looking a little embarrassed. “No...” Villanelle tilts her head, smiling a little. “Why, are _you_ horny, Eve?”

  
  


“Err, yes? Obviously. You’re naked, I’m naked, and have you seen yourself?”

  
  


“My body is amazing.” Villanelle agrees solemnly. “I’m sorry I teased you with it.”

  
  


“No you aren’t.”

  
  


“No.” Villanelle agrees. “I’m not.”

  
  


And they’re kissing again, neither quite sure who initiated it this time, neither quite sure what they’re going to do now that they’re naked in bed together and not having sex.

  
  


Villanelle pulls back, easing onto her side, her fingers brushing over Eve’s collarbone and then down the side of her left breast. 

  
  


“You’re beautiful.” She tells her. “And soon, I’m definitely going to fu...” Villanelle trails off, because there’s that word again. 

  
  


She frowns.

  
  


“You’re going to?” Eve asks, laughing a little. 

  
  


“Eve?”

  
  


“Yes, Villanelle?” Eve still sounds bemused, and Villanelle wonders how she can possibly be so patient with her.

  
  


“Is it still fucking?”

  
  


“ _What?_ ”

  
  


“When you have sex, and it matters. Is it still fucking?”

  
  


Eve looks utterly incredulous.

  
  


“Is _that_ what you’ve been thinking about?!”

  
  


“No...” Villanelle frowns deeper and then she sighs out: “Yesss, okay. So, is it different or not?”

  
  


“Umm...” Eve sighs back, her eyes blinking upwards in surprise as she considers her answer. “Well, sort of. Yeah.”

  
  


“Why?” Villanelle rests her head on her hand, watching Eve intently.

  
  


“Okay, just give me a minute, this wasn’t the conversation I was expecting to have when I got naked with you for the first time. I wasn’t actually expecting to have any conversation...”

  
  


“Would it help if we get under the covers?”

  
  


“Err, it might, yes.”

  
  


Villanelle shifts to draw the duvet back and Eve does the same, both resuming their previous positions once they’re tucked up underneath it.

  
  


“Right.” Eve attempts again. “So, having meaningful sex and fucking someone are different because... well, okay, so the act itself can be similar, I guess. Only, when you care about someone it feels... different?”

  
  


“Different _how_?” Villanelle asks impatiently, chewing her lower lip.

  
  


“I don’t know, just, better? Maybe. It’s not so rushed and even if you aren’t receiving, it still feels good? Because you’re making _them_ feel good...”

  
  


“Right.” Villanelle frowns again, because she still doesn’t get it. “I like making people feel good when I fuck them though?”

  
  


“Yeah, but you don’t really care about them, do you?”

  
  


“No...but...”

  
  


“And it’s about after too.” Eve continues, stroking Villanelle’s hair back. “What do you normally do after?”

  
  


“Err, fuck them again?”

  
  


“After that.”

  
  


“I don’t know? Sometimes they’d go to sleep and I’d just...” Villanelle exhales, shrugging. “I’d just wait for them to wake up and leave, usually.”

  
  


“Right, well, that parts _very_ different.”

  
  


“But different _how_?” Villanelle repeats, widening her eyes.

  
  


Eve just smiles back at her. 

  
  


“You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, there you go! Chapter 18 done and dusted!
> 
> I don't think anything has ever burned slower than these two.
> 
> I can't even remember if I had any notes of importance to say... I don't feel well today. I hope I haven't got corona virus. I mean, if I even get a headache these days I think it's corona virus - but who doesn't right!? But anyway. 
> 
> I had my first Villaneve dream the other night :O that was pretty damn amazing I have to say. Although I'm surprised I don't get more dreams the amount of head space I dedicate to this fanfic!? Something is very wrong there.
> 
> As always any ideas or thoughts welcome <3
> 
> OH!!!! WAIT! My notes have come back...
> 
> So, Eve being selfish. I toyed with that for a while, because fundamentally I feel like she's meant to be 'nice' person right? But then I couldn't really come up with many thoughtful Eve moments... and so yeah, I feel I'm justified. But feel free to argue with me!
> 
> And oh my God, I didn't know if Villanelle would legitimately ask Eve to beg on the streets lol but it was in my head, and then it was on the page... and it was done. So, again sorry, if that felt wrong in some way *shrug shrug shrug* okay I'm going now!


	19. Pluto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's fluff.
> 
> Ohhhh and I know they've been through enough. Villanelle has been through enough. But these things happen.
> 
> The f word features a lot too.

Eve wakes abruptly that morning to the unmistakable sound of Villanelle snoring. It’s a sound she’s become somewhat accustomed to over the weeks, but this morning’s snore symphony is particularly loud and obnoxious.

  
  


Eve stares at her through half-asleep eyes for a moment, wondering - not for the first time - how someone who looks so serene and angelic when they sleep can possibly omit such a god awful noise.

  
  


“Hey.” She nudges her, which is usually enough to prompt a change in position, but today there’s zero reaction. Villanelle is dead to the world. “Villanelle?” Eve speaks directly into her ear, nudging her again. “You‘re going to get us thrown out? It’s six in the morning and you sound like a very overweight walrus blowing a trumpet.”

  
  


That gets some reaction at least, a whimper, as Villanelle curls a little tighter towards Eve.

  
  


And then the snoring starts up again.

  
  


“Wow. Okay. Villanelle, seriously, that’s right in my ear now?”

  
  


Villanelle half-snores, coughs and groans as she rolls onto her back again, stretching two long arms into the space above her head.

  
  


“ _Eve_.” Is all she says, as she finishes stretching and drops her hands to her face for a sleepy rub at her eyes. “I was sleeping.”

  
  


“You were _snoring_ , very loudly.”

  
  


A big pout forms on Villanelle’s lips, and Eve gives a little roll of her eyes.

  
  


“Don’t get upset. Apart from your snoring, you’re otherwise very beautiful when you’re asleep.”

  
  


“Mm.” Villanelle grunts, still pouting. “I was having good dreams.”

  
  


“Yeah? What about?”

  
  


“You.” Villanelle grins now, suddenly turning again and rushing Eve’s mouth with her own.

  
  


Eve flounders for a moment, surprised by the sudden ambush, but soon melting into the soft press of Villanelle’s lips, and getting deliriously lost in the strong scent of her skin and the pull of her hands as they cup her face.

  
  


When Villanelle finally breaks away, Eve feels like she’s just pressed the reset button on her whole life.

  
  


“Morning.” Villanelle whispers, pushing back a few stray curls from Eve’s face.

  
  


“M-Morning.” Eve stutters back, still staring at Villanelle’s mouth and trying to get her brain back online. “That...I wasn’t expecting...” 

  
  


Villanelle flashes another smile as she stretches again, looking extremely pleased with herself.

  
  


“You’re in a good mood this morning.” Eve remarks, somewhat suspiciously, because she can probably count on one hand the number of not-cranky mornings Villanelle has had over the last few weeks. 

  
  


“I slept really good.” Is Villanelle’s simple reply, and Eve raises her eyebrows. She knows Villanelle ‘slept really good’ because she was snuggled up to Eve, butt naked and snoring all night. 

  
  


“Yes, _I know_.”

  
  


“Why do you say it like that?” 

  
  


“No reason.” Eve says innocently, smiling to herself, because she knows Villanelle will freak out if she tells her she’d had to prize herself out of her vicelike grip to use the toilet in the middle of the night. “You just seemed like you were in a really deep sleep, that’s all.”

  
  


“Oh right.” Villanelle coughs again and rubs at her chest. “Ugh, my ribs are still killing me.”

  
  


“Hmm, well we should probably redress your wounds again. It’s been a few days.” 

  
  


“Yes, Doctor Shaw...”

  
  


“You’re never letting that go are you.”

  
  


“Nope.”

  
  


They head down for breakfast a little before eight. Barbara has everything laid out on the kitchen table, and it’s all very traditionally quaint and English - there’s a knitted tea cosy on her teapot, a wire toast rack full of evenly toasted bread and several little pots of different jams and preserves. There’s also a huge fruit bowl, overflowing with apples, bananas and pears, and, of course a cooked breakfast on the stove, and Eve feels like she’s died and gone to heaven.

  
  


Eve has a little bit of everything, eggs, sausage, toast with butter, toast with jam, fruit...and it’s probably the most she’s eaten for breakfast in about ten years. She also has two cups of coffee and a look through the paper Barbara has left out, because it’s been a while since she’s done a morning crossword puzzle.

  
  


All in all it’s the perfect breakfast. Except, Villanelle doesn’t seem quite so invested in it, only picking at her toast and eggs, and spending the rest of the time slumped over the table, nursing a glass of orange juice.

  
  


“What’s wrong?” Eve whispers, conscious that Barbara is still busying herself at the stove behind them.

  
  


“Nothing, I’m just not that hungry.”

  
  


“You’re _always_ hungry?”

  
  


A shrug. And Eve rolls her eyes because it’s always the same between them, they take one step forward and then ten steps back.

  
  


“Fine.” Eve replies, ducking back behind her newspaper, because she isn’t about to let Villanelle’s bad mood spoil her perfect breakfast.

  
  


**Bali** \- her brain reminds.

  
  


Eve sighs to herself, putting the newspaper back down.

  
  


“Do you want to go back upstairs then?” She asks, and Villanelle immediately gives a small, relieved nod.

  
  


****

  
  


Villanelle’s back in bed, with the duvet pulled up to her chin and tiredness tugging at her eyelids.

  
  


Eve keeps asking her what’s wrong, and Villanelle keeps saying she doesn’t know, because she doesn’t. One minute she was feeling on top of the world, and the next minute it was like she was being squashed underneath it. 

  
  


She might even go so far as to say she feels like she’s on a whole other planet altogether. Like Pluto. The lonely, forgotten, cold planet.

  
  


She shivers as though to evidence her logic.

  
  


“I feel funny, and cold.” She tells Eve then, because that’s the best she can do, and Eve leans towards her, suddenly attentive.

  
  


“You feel cold?”

  
  


“Yeah.”

  
  


Eve puts her hand on her forehead, frowning. 

  
  


“Maybe you have a fever. You are a bit warm...” 

  
  


Villanelle closes her eyes, enjoying the sudden contact and the closer proximity of Eve’s body.

  
  


“Lie with me?”

  
  


“Hmm.” Is Eve’s stiff reply. “I think I should check your wounds first, make sure they’re not infected.”

  
  


“Can’t we do that later?”

  
  


“Not really, no.” Eve exhales, sounding worried now, and Villanelle reluctantly opens her eyes. “Shit, what are we going to do? What if you need a Doctor again?”

  
  


“I don’t.” Villanelle replies, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s probably just a chill from sleeping outside in the rain.”

  
  


Villanelle doesn’t know if that’s even a thing, but she goes with it, because it seems to make Eve a little less anxious.

  
  


“Yeah? Do you think so?”

  
  


“Uh-huh.” She nods, forcing herself upright and resting her head against the wrought iron headboard. It’s not comfortable at all, but it does make her feel less woozy. 

  
  


Eve immediately moves to grab the first aid kit, opening it deftly onto the bed this time, having had several practices since that first, fumbled attempt in the woods. 

  
  


She quickly takes down the dressing on Villanelle’s arm, and there’s a heavy pause as she inspects what was previously a deep graze from Birkenstock woman’s bullet.

  
  


“It’s healing fine.” Eve says eventually, sounding relieved, and Villanelle also breathes out a small sigh of relief. 

  
  


Eve dabs the area gently with some disinfectant, applying a clean dressing over the top, before asking:

  
  


“Can I see the one on your ribs now?”

  
  


Villanelle reluctantly drops the duvet down and pulls up her brand new, powder blue blouse. She can’t help but shiver, her skin is ridiculously sensitive to the cold that only seems to exist for her, as Eve pulls at the second sticky dressing and peers cautiously underneath.

  
  


“This one’s fine too.” Is her breathy reply, her relief even more palpable this time around. “Just let me clean it quickly and redress it.”

  
  


Villanelle nods, sliding down the headboard a little as her relief gives way to sheer exhaustion.

  
  


“Five more minutes, okay? Then you can have a nice, long nap.” Eve promises with a small chuckle, sounding a lot happier now that she’s seen there’s no horrible infection lurking. “Even though it’s only half nine in the morning...”

  
  


“That’s the perfect time for a nap.” Villanelle insists, closing her eyes as Eve wraps everything up, and that includes Villanelle, who finds herself cocooned in blankets before she’s even registered that Eve’s finished and putting the first aid kit away. 

  
  


“I’ll have to go out and get you some paracetamol.” Eve says, standing up.

  
  


“What? Nooo.” Villanelle whines, opening her eyes again so that she can fix Eve with a grumpy pout, well aware she’s being full-on pathetic now. “I want you to stay.”

  
  


Eve looks momentarily torn.

  
  


“I’ll just stay until you’re asleep, okay? But don’t get cranky when I have to wake you up to take them later.”

  
  


“I won’t! I promise.”

  
  


Villanelle watches eagerly as Eve climbs back into bed, lying rather awkwardly beside her humongous mound of duvet, which isn’t really good enough, or close enough, or anything enough. 

  
  


And Villanelle wonders if it’s her slight fever making her feel like this, or whether she’s just finally giving into her Eve-addiction, and if so whether it’s just going to be a spiral into the abyss from here on out.

  
  


Either way she’s screwed, really.

  
  


“What?” Eve asks, when she sees Villanelle peering at her. 

  
  


“Nothing...” Villanelle says, because she might be pathetic and addicted but she’s not desperate. She is however manipulative. “Ohhh, owww!”

  
  


“What?! What is it?” Eve is on her in a second, pulling the duvet back, which is an unpleasantly cold but totally necessary part of Villanelle’s plan.

  
  


“Um, a pain.” Villanelle replies weakly, acting out a wince. 

  
  


“Where?” 

  
  


“Uhhhh...” Villanelle realises that concocting a solid, watertight plan when you’re sick is a lot easier said than done. “My leg.”

  
  


“Your _leg_?” Eve sounds extremely sceptical now, and Villanelle inwardly cringes at herself. “Are you just faking to get attention?”

  
  


“........ _Noo?_ “

  
  


“Villanelle.”

  
  


And now her head _really is_ starting to hurt, from all the pouting and frowning she’s done in the last three hours.

  
  


Time for a new tactic.

  
  


“Eve?”

  
  


“Yes?”

  
  


“I can’t sleep.”

  
  


“You were practically asleep two minutes ago?!”

  
  


Ugh. Why is Eve being such hard work today?

  
  


“I’m not comfy enough.” Villanelle wriggles around pointedly. “My pillow’s all wrong.”

  
  


“Okay...” Eve leans over to reposition Villanelle’s offending pillow. ”Better?”

  
  


“Err, no...a bit more that way...yeah, yeah...just a little more...”

  
  


Eve leans even further over her, so her chest is pressing into Villanelle’s upper body as she continues pulling and plumping the pillow. She pauses when she sees Villanelle smiling up at her.

  
  


“What are you smiling about?”

  
  


“Mmm, I like it _exactly_ like that.”

  
  


“Exactly like _this_?” Eve checks, with a sudden, knowing look.

  
  


“Yes. Don’t move.” 

  
  


Eve shakes her head and wraps her arm around Villanelle properly, her head tucking under her chin.

  
  


“If you wanted me to cuddle you, you only had to say you know.”

  
  


“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Eve.” Villanelle replies, completely straight faced. “I just wanted my pillow fluffed?”

  
  


“Righhhht.”

  
  


Villanelle sighs contentedly and snuggles even deeper into Eve’s embrace, her arm snaking under Eve’s small frame and up her back, so that she’s holding onto her tightly.

  
  


“I’m so screwed...” Villanelle accidentally murmurs, as her eyes finally slip closed.

  
  


****

  
  


Eve returns from the shops an hour later, with paracetamol, ibuprofen and some hopefully tempting snacks. Villanelle doesn’t even stir when she comes in, so she spends a bit of time unloading her shopping bags, and then about twenty minutes hovering over Villanelle and fretting.

  
  


She looks peaceful but sweaty, and Eve regrets wrapping her up in the heavy duvet. 

  
  


And after the fretting, Eve takes a moment to congratulate herself on her personal growth since Bali with Niko, because here she is, showing up and stepping up, and being unselfish.

  
  


Only, she’s also realised that it’s actually very easy to be unselfish with Villanelle, because she can’t stand to see her sick or hurting. And that presents a completely new perplexing conundrum...

  
  


Eve stares at the snoring blonde again. If Niko snored Eve had wanted to bash his head in with the bedside lamp. Repeatedly. But when Villanelle snores it’s... okay, still annoying but... cute, and endearing and maybe a little bit adorable, too.

  
  


Eve pulls a disgusted face at herself, and thinks how she might actually make herself vomit if she carries on.

  
  


But she can’t stop the thoughts as they swirl around in her head, can’t just simply ignore them anymore. She...she might even go so far as to say she...

  
  


“Eve?” And Villanelle is suddenly sitting bolt upright in bed, damp blonde hair sticking up everywhere and... she’s naked. “Where’d you go?”

  
  


Eve’s eyes dart from Villanelle’s bleary eyes to her full, perfect - as previously established - breasts like a boomerang. Back and forth, back and forth. Back and...

  
  


“Naked. You. Why?” Eve blurts out, and then clears her throat. “Uhhh, and the shops. Remember?”

  
  


“Oh.” Villanelle looks down at herself, as though only just realising she hasn’t got a stitch on. “I was _really_ **hot**.”

  
  


“Oh, right...” Eve swallows, and mentally kicks herself, because _what the fuck_? Villanelle’s sick and she’s over here checking her out, and practically drooling all over herself. 

  
  


**Yup. Still selfish** \- her brain confirms.

  
  


**Piss off, brain** \- Eve replies.

  
  


“Are _you_ okay?” Villanelle asks, clearly picking up on the fact that Eve is in the midst of some kind of mental breakdown.

  
  


“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Here, paracetamol.”

Eve struggles for a moment to open the box, and then, as she approaches the bed and a still very naked, very hot in more ways than one Villanelle, puts a little too much pressure on the blister pack and sends one of the tablets shooting across the room. 

Villanelle raises one, unimpressed eyebrow at her.

“You’re being clumsy and weird, Eve.”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to concentrate with your amazing tits just sitting there, right in my face.”

Villanelle practically explodes with what can only be described as a high pitched wheeze.

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

“You heard me!”

  
  


“Really?” Villanelle leans back, surprised. “Even when I’m this sweaty and gross you’d still...?”

  
  


“Shut up.” Eve finally holds out the tablets. “Swallow these.”

  
  


Villanelle's face is now a picture of absolute delight. 

  
  


“Oh Eve, you’ve got it baddddd for me.”

  
  


“I said shut up?”

  
  


“Ha!” Villanelle smirks to herself, chucking the tablets back with a swig of water from her bedside table. “Do you know what I wish?”

  
  


“I don’t want to know.”

  
  


“Oh go on, Eve. Please?”

  
  


Eve reluctantly sits down on the bed, turning to face her.

  
  


“Fine. What do you wish?”

  
  


Villanelle leans in a little closer before she says: 

  
  


“I wish that I’d fucked you last night.”

  
  


Eve groans and then sighs despondently.

  
  


“Yes. So do I.”

  
  


Villanelle’s eyebrows shoot up again.

  
  


“What? Am I delirious right now? Did you actually just say that?”

  
  


“You probably _are_ delirious, but yes I did just say that.” Eve sighs again. “Move over.”

  
  


Villanelle dutifully shuffles over and Eve lies down, curling into her so that their foreheads are almost touching.

  
  


They lie like that in complete silence for several minutes, before Villanelle quietly asks:

  
  


“Do you ever think that the world is working against us?”

  
  


“All the time.”

  
  


“Me too.”

  
  


Eve smiles softly as Villanelle’s wide, fever-blown eyes continue to search hers.

  
  


“I’ll probably get better, but then you’ll get sick. And then we _still_ won’t be able to fuck.”

  
  


“Listen, if I get sick next or - I don’t know - hit by a car, I’m still fucking you.” Eve says with admirable determination. “If I’m on my death bed next week? That’s what we’ll be doing, so be ready.”

  
  


“You say that now, Eve, but I feel so shit I can’t even masturbate so...” Villenelle pauses before adding. “And I say that from a place of recent experience, because I tried when you went to the shops.”

  
  


“You did not!” Eve laughs, giving her a gentle shove. 

  
  


Villanelle grins back and cheekily rolls her eyes to one side.

  
  


“I guess you’ll never know...”

  
  


“Hmmm.”

  
  


“You’re not worried about it anymore then?”

  
  


“About what?”

  
  


“Sex, _obviously_?”

  
  


“Ohhh right, umm...” Eve gives a small smile and a shake of her head. “Not so much after seeing your reaction to the body mapping, no...”

  
  


“Ugh. The body mapping, don’t remind me.” Villanelle genuinely rolls her eyes this time. “We really need to find a new therapist.”

  
  


“Why?” Eve asks with evident surprise. “I feel like we’ve made real progress? We talk now.”

  
  


“Agreed. But the sex still isn’t happening, is it? Thanks to Margaret and all this mushy feeling stuff she’s shoved inside my head.”

  
  


“She was just doing her job? And anyway, you could have had sex with me before we even met Margaret, when we spent that night together in the Premier Inn? But you didn’t.”

  
  


“Eve?! In the _Premier Inn_? What do you take me for?” Villanelle shudders, and Eve places a concerned hand on her forehead again. “That was a shudder of disgust, don’t worry.”

  
  


“Oh, good.” Eve acknowledges before continuing. “Is that really why you didn’t? I mean, if we’d stayed in a posh hotel, would you have?”

  
  


Villanelle’s face falls.

  
  


“No...not then, no.”

  
  


“ _Why not?_ ”

  
  


Silence, and Villanelle’s big hazel eyes are roaming the room, looking past her, looking through her, looking anywhere but at her.

  
  


“It has to do with when I tried to kiss you. With the things I told Margaret.”

  
  


“Oh...” Eve breathes out, because despite all the talking they still haven’t talked about **this**.

  
  


“I can’t remember what I said _exactly_.” Villanelle admits, still avoiding all eye contact. “But I told her about Russia and Mama, and then she asked about you.”

  
  


“What about me?”

  
  


Villanelle laughs a little, because actually that’s exactly how the conversation had gone. 

  
  


“She wanted to know what I thought about you being upset, because I’d been so closed off? And I said I didn’t think anything.”

  
  


“That sounds like you.” Is all Eve can think to say, and Villanelle just shrugs in acceptance.

  
  


“She asked why, so I told her how you wanted it all to stop on the bridge?”

  
  


Eve narrows her eyes a little, trying to piece it all together.

  
  


“Right...”

  
  


“And I told her what happened. How I said you could leave, but you didn’t. And then _she_ said...” Villanelle trails off, looking suddenly tired, and Eve feels a pang of guilt for making her do this now, and another pang for being too selfish to tell her to stop. “She said, you _chose_ me. And I said, that wasn’t possible, that you couldn’t choose me.”

  
  


Villanelle stops then, her dark circled, slightly teary eyes finally reaching Eve’s.

  
  


“Why couldn’t I choose you?” Eve questions with a frown, and Villanelle‘s eyes blink twice before drifting shut.

  
  


“Because...”

  
  


“That’s not a reason, Villanelle?”

  
  


“ _Because.._.” She repeats more firmly now. “I’m all dark and twisted up inside, Eve. That’s why.”

  
  


Eve immediately opens her mouth to respond, her sharp intake of breath tugging at the space between them, making it seem even narrower somehow.

  
  


“That doesn’t mean I can’t _care_ about you, or that I can’t _want_ you, or that I can’t...” Eve draws a shaky breath, “ _love you_ , even?”

  
  


And there it is, the L word, just dangling between them like it had in Rome, only this time it’s hanging from Eve’s lips.

  
  


Villanelle twitches, her eyes sliding back open.

  
  


“No, it doesn’t. You’re right, and I know that now.” She closes her eyes again. “And it doesn’t mean that I can’t want you, or that I can’t care about you, either.”

  
  


There’s a distinct absence in that sentence, and a long, distinct pause follows it, which makes Eve wonder for a moment if that’s it, if that’s all she’s going to get. 

  
  


But then Villanelle’s lips part again, and she whispers out:

  
  


“But what if I can't work out how to love you back?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh this chapter was an interesting write.
> 
> POOR VILLANELLE. I know I'm an ass, because I've dragged her through hell and back again in the last 19 chapters, but her being a bit incapacitated gives Eve the opportunity to do stuff. Sorry (but come on, we all love it when Eve gives her a bit of TLC). I have dropped a few little hints at her being off in previous chapters but they could easily be overlooked so no biggy if you didn't catch them.
> 
> I've re-written that last line about four times. I'm still not sure it's quite right, but let me just establish something: I'm not saying she doesn't love Eve. She definitely does - the full meaning of it will become clear in chapter 20. Is that a bit of a tease?? 
> 
> Hope you're all good and had nice weekends - I for one am gutted it's Monday again tomorrow!!


	20. The Heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH HAPPENS.
> 
> Where can I even begin???
> 
> Buckle up for this one.

  
  


Villanelle wakes in a feverish haze. It’s the middle of the night, and the room’s almost pitch black, save for a little light from a street lamp that peeks between the impossible-to-close gap in the ugly brown curtains.

  
  


Eve is asleep beside her, starfished on her front, her hand draped limply across Villanelle’s stomach, fingers grazing against her bare skin. 

  
  


She looks peaceful and perfect, and Villanelle takes a moment to commit her soft, reposed features to memory.

  
  


And then Villanelle coughs, and it’s not little and dry anymore, it’s loud and thick, like someone’s filled her lungs with sludge while she’s been asleep. 

  
  


Gross.

  
  


Eve stirs immediately of course, lifting her heavy head from her pillow.

  
  


“You okay?” She slurs out, still coming to. “Do you need some water? I’ll get it.” And with that she’s already pushing herself upright and clicking on the bedside light.

  
  


“No, no, I’m okay.” Villanelle doesn’t want Eve to get up, or to do anything for her actually, not after their conversation last night. “Go back to sleep.”

  
  


“Villanelle?” Eve squints at her uncertainly in the now eerie orange glow, paused in her efforts.

  
  


“I’m fine, honest.” 

  
  


Another cough.

  
  


“You don’t sound fine?” 

  
  


“Chest infection, probably.” Villanelle sighs out, and she should have seen that coming really, with her ribs the way they are and after getting practically hypothermic in their tent. “I’ll get some antibiotics tomorrow.”

  
  


Eve inches closer, dropping her chin into her open palm as she blinks up at Villanelle, the cloudy look of sleep still lingering in her eyes.

  
  


“You realise you can’t just _get_ antibiotics, right? You need an _actual prescription_ from an _actual Doctor_.”

  
  


“I am going to steal them, obviously.” Villanelle grunts, putting her own hand to her forehead as she shivers. “From the pharmacy.”

  
  


“Ohhh, righhht...” Eve replies, giving the distinct impression that she is very much humouring her. “And you think you’ll be able to do that do you, in this state?” 

  
  


“I’ve done it before.” 

  
  


That’s not entirely true, but she did steal medication from the hospital in Paris, and she hadn’t been in tip top shape then either.

  
  


“I’m not upset with you.” Eve remarks out of the blue, or at least it seems to be out of the blue. Villanelle concedes that it’s not impossible she’s missed out on a portion of conversation here or there, as she is very sleepy again all of a sudden, and her eyes seem to keep closing.

  
  


“Hmm?”

  
  


“About what you said.” Eve continues on regardless, her fingers stroking the side of Villanelle’s face and then drifting into her hair. 

  
  


And Villanelle just about manages a moan of protest, but it’s kind of crossed with a moan of contentment too, as her traitorous body turns into Eve’s.

  
  


And Eve ushers Villanelle in, pressing her head into her chest. And it’s nice to be held, Villanelle thinks, and she possibly says as much too, because Eve chuckles softly and pulls her even closer.

  
  


“I was wrong in Rome, when I said you don’t know what it is? I was wrong about a lot of things then.”

  
  


Villanelle squeezes her eyelids together so hard they hurt, and then opens her eyes wide, in a bid to stay awake for a while longer.

  
  


“Margaret said I have good inside of me. She said that I _can_ love you, and that I just have to show you that I can?”

  
  


The words seem to swirl in her head and on her tongue, and she gives herself a little shake, trying to keep focussed.

  
  


“But I don’t know about _that_. Not yet, anyway.”

  
  


“That’s okay.” Eve replies slowly and a little uncertainly, still stroking her hair. “I can wait until you do.”

  
  


“No, no, you’re not understanding me!”

  
  


Eve glances down at her now, frowning sympathetically.

  
  


“Well, in my defence, you’re not making a huge amount of sense?”

  
  


Villanelle reluctantly pulls herself from the comfort of Eve’s arms, so she can look her straight in the eye.

  
  


“I know how I _feel_ about you, Eve. But I don’t know how that works when we...” Villanelle groans again and resists the urge to just give up and give in to the much less complicated pressure of sleep. “I don’t... I don’t know how to _be_ with you, you know?”

  
  


Eve purses her lips, still looking a bit lost.

  
  


“Physically?” She asks finally, and Villanelle lets her head flop down, releasing a tired and defeated sigh. “Sorry, I’m trying?”

  
  


“You are shit at trying, Eve.”

  
  


“Well, what do you mean, _be with me?_ Be with me, _how?_ Like this?” Eve indicates to their current position, which is Villanelle still naked, nuzzled into Eve’s t-shirt clad breasts, with Eve’s arms circled around her. “You seem to be doing fine at this?”

  
  


“I’m _not_ fine. This, it... _ugh_.”

  
  


Another tired and defeated sigh.

  
  


“We don’t have to talk about this now, it’s late and you’re not well. I’m sorry I brought it up, okay?”

  
  


And Eve’s giving her a way out, and it’s very, very tempting.

  
  


“No. Just let me...” Villanelle opts not to take it, speaking with her eyes closed now, her brain running in circles in the dark. “I mean all of it. The whole thing. _Being with you_.”

  
  


“Yeah, I still don’t-“

  
  


“Okay, your hands then, when you touch me, you make me feel like...” The words wobble, and she sucks in another breath to push them out. “I feel so many _good_ _feelings_ , Eve. And I don’t know how to give that back to you? I don’t know how to make my hands _do that_. And it’s the same when you kiss me, and when you take care of me, and I know it’ll be the same when you fuc-“

  
  


“I get it.” Eve interrupts, her voice sounding like a big bubble of emotion that’s ready to pop. “I get it. Ssh, it’s okay.”

  
  


And Villanelle doesn’t even know she’s crying, certainly doesn’t feel like she is, but a few tears must have slipped out under her closed eyelids, because Eve’s brushing them away with her fingertips.

  
  


“It’s okay.” Eve repeats again. “You don’t need to worry about any of those things, alright? Because I already feel them.”

  
  


“You do?” Villanelle murmurs back, definitely nearing sleep now but clinging onto every last word, not about to make the same mistake twice.

  
  


“Yes.” Eve gently kisses the top of her head. “I feel so _safe_ when I’m with you, so... _wanted_ and... no one’s ever made me feel like you do. You make me...” Eve trails off, her voice barely above a whisper now. “You make me feel like I’m beautiful, and - oh, I don’t know - it’s so much more than just that. When you look at me, it’s like... it’s like I‘m the only person in the whole world that you can see, you know? Like I’m the only one who matters.”

  
  


Villanelle surfaces herself from the draw of sleep one last time, bringing her hand up to cup Eve’s face.

  
  


“Mmm.” Villanelle hums softly, stroking Eve’s cheek. “That’s because you are.”

  
  


****

  
  


“I’m going.”

  
  


Eve sits cross legged on the bed, watching Villanelle as she attempts to get ready to go and find the nearest pharmacy.

  
  


“I really am going, Eve.” Villanelle repeats as she pulls open the wardrobe door and grabs a very strange combination of brightly coloured clothes out of it. “You’re not going to stop me.”

  
  


Eve says nothing, because they’ve already been arguing about it for the last half an hour, and the argument never gets any further than:

  
  


_I’m going._

  
  


_No, you’re not._

  
  


_I am!_

  
  


_You’re not!_

  
  


So Eve has resorted to simply saying nothing, and just watching this terrible idea as it unfolds.

  
  


Moments later, and Villanelle is wearing a white top with huge golden pineapples all over it, and attempting to wrangle herself into a pair of slim fit, multicoloured, zigzag stripe trousers. She manages to get one leg in before she has to sit down on the end of the bed, to rest and catch her breath.

  
  


She sounds wheezy, Eve thinks, and her face has taken on an increasingly sickly and pale sheen.

  
  


“Fucking trousers.” She curses, waving her legs about in a bit of a mini-strop as she tries to shove her other foot in whilst simultaneously twisting the tight fabric up past her thigh on the other leg, all from a sitting position. 

  
  


Eve raises her eyebrows and continues to watch, curious to see who will ultimately win the battle between Villanelle and her technicolored, zigzag trousers.

  
  


“Fuck off then!” Villanelle finally shouts, and the trousers are sent flying across the room, landing in a crumpled, psychedelic heap by the door.

  
  


Eve bites her lip to keep her silence, and Villanelle glares at her as she stands back up, heading for the wardrobe again.

  
  


“I’m still going!”

  
  


She pulls out a blue dress this time, mopping her sweating brow with her forearm as she somewhat unsteadily returns to the bed with it.

  
  


There’s a tussle as tries to get herself back out of the pineapple top, her arms and head ending up sort of stuck in it, engulfed momentarily in tight, tropical fabric. And then, when she finally breaks out of it, panting and sweating and swearing, she flops back rather hopelessly onto the bed.

  
  


“...........I’m not going.”

  
  


“I know.” Eve says softly, shifting down a little so that Villanelle can lift her head onto her lap. “You just _had_ to figure it out for yourself though, didn’t you? And now look at you.”

  
  


Villanelle makes a sad noise in the back of her throat.

  
  


“You’re all hot and sweaty again.” Eve sighs, drawing Villanelle’s hair damp back.

  
  


“Ooh, does that mean I get a sponge bath?” Villanelle asks with a hopeful grin.

  
  


“We don’t have a bath in here.”

  
  


“Sponge shower, then?”

“Hmm. We’ll see.”

  
  


Villanelle’s eyes practically bug out of her head.

  
  


“We will?” She asks in surprise. “ _Will we_ _see? Really?_ ”

  
  


Eve laughs at her childlike excitement, giving her head a small shake.

  
  


“It depends how much rest you get between now and when I get back.”

  
  


“I’ll rest! I promise, I won’t even move!” Villanelle frowns suddenly as her brain catches up. “Wait, where are you going?”

  
  


“To find a pharmacy, to get your antibiotics.”

  
  


Eve anticipates a reaction, but what she doesn’t anticipate is the reaction she gets, which is Villanelle absolutely squealing with laughter.

  
  


“You... HA... you think... YOU? Ha, I... Eve... HAHA... oh... _it hurts_...”

  
  


“It’s not funny? I’m about to go and commit a crime for you?”

  
  


Villanelle laughs even harder, coughing and wheezing so hard by the end of it that Eve thinks she might stop breathing altogether.

  
  


“Christ, will you stop laughing before you kill yourself?!”

  
  


Villanelle sniffles and wipes at the tears that are now running down her cheeks.

  
  


“Oh... Eve... shit! I’m sorry, it’s just I’m not sure you committing daylight robbery is such a good idea?”

  
  


“Well, I’ll need your help, obviously...”

  
  


“Obviously!” Villanelle repeats with a snort.

  
  


“So, how do I do it?”

  
  


“I don’t know?”

  
  


“What do you mean you don’t know?! You must have had a plan?!”

  
  


Eve runs an exasperated hand through her hair, already beginning to regret her heroic offer of help.

  
  


“Not really? You have to suss it out first. Like, are they stupid enough to think you’re on work experience, or do they close for lunch, or is it best to just grab it and run?” Villanelle pauses. “Or to shoot someone in the head.”

  
  


“ _Those_ were your plans?”

  
  


Villanelle nods as she coughs hard into her fist.

  
  


“Well, I’m sort of reformed now and I don’t have a gun, so I probably wasn’t going to shoot anyone in the head.”

  
  


“ _Probably_...”

  
  


“I really _need_ the antibiotics, Eve.” She says, as though that somehow absolves her of the lengths she’s willing to go to. Or perhaps it’s said to preemptively absolve Eve. “I need amoxicillin or erythromycin, okay? Don’t just come back with your best guess.”

  
  


Eve chews her lower lip, the gravity of what she’s just committed herself to truly sinking in. 

  
  


“What are you going to wear?” Villanelle asks now, and Eve blinks at her.

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“What will you wear, Eve? For this heist of yours.”

  
  


“Don’t call it a _heist?_ That sounds so... serious! Like I’m stealing diamonds or something.”

  
  


“Fine, then. What will you wear for this _petty theft_ of yours?”

  
  


Eve looks down at Villanelle and tuts.

  
  


“I don’t know, a t-shirt maybe.”

  
  


“ _Just_ a t-shirt?”

  
  


“Now you’re just being stupid. And a perv.”

Villanelle smiles, waving a limp hand in the general direction of the wardrobe.

  
  


“There’s some new stuff in there you can try.”

  
  


“Your stuff won’t fit me.” Eve replies, not even about to start on the fact that giant golden pineapples paired with zigzag trousers would look beyond ridiculous on her.

  
  


“I got you some stuff too.”

  
  


“You did? You didn’t say...”

  
  


“Well, I know how funny you can be about clothes, Eve. I did try to find you a sweater attached to a shirt, but no one seems to sell them anymore. Weird, right?”

  
  


“Piss off.”

  
  


Villanelle smiles to herself momentarily before pressing a steadying hand to her forehead and sitting upright, leaving Eve’s lap suddenly cool and empty.

  
  


“Go look. There is a nice puff sleeved blouse that you will look amazing in.”

  
  


****

  
  


Eve wears the cream puff sleeved blouse with some high waisted black trousers. Villanelle had wanted her to wear the tight, black pencil skirt she’d picked out for her but Eve had refused; because she suspects it’s very hard to run from the police in a pencil skirt. 

  
  


The scene of the imminent crime is... pretty tiny. A little local pharmacy with only a small counter separating the customer area from the stocked shelves at the back. Eve thinks if Villanelle was here she’d probably just vault over the counter top, grab the box she needs and be back out on the streets ten minutes later, like nothing had even happened.

  
  


But Eve can’t just vault over the counter, so she’s left with Villanelle’s other three options: pretend she’s here for work experience, wait for the two staff members to take their lunch break, or shoot them both in the head.

  
  


Tricky.

  
  


Eve picks up a random item from a shelf and approaches the counter.

  
  


“Is that all?” The lady asks, punching a few numbers into the till.

  
  


“Err yes. Just these, thanks...” Eve nods, glancing down at her product of choice.

  
  


**Incontinence pads???? Fuck** _._

  
  


“That’ll be £4.49.”

  
  


“Great.” Eve forces a smile as she hands over a five pound note. “Hey, um, do you know anywhere nice for lunch around here?”

  
  


The woman sighs heavily, and Eve suspects that they must get very sick of tourists like herself asking stupid questions.

  
  


“There’s a cafe just up the road.”

  
  


“Oh right.” Eve takes her change and incontinence pads - _ugh_. “Is that, err, where you go?”

  
  


Wow, smooth, very smooth, Eve thinks mockingly to herself. And she can imagine Villanelle facepalming.

  
  


The woman gives her a funny look.

  
  


“Yes...”

  
  


“Oh yeah, and, um, what sort of time would that be?”

  
  


Another funny look.

  
  


“Not until twelve. Why, do you need something else?”

  
  


Eve glances at the clock on the wall - it’s just gone eleven.

  
  


“Ummm, maybe yes, I’ll just...” Eve vaguely gestures back to the product aisles and steps away from the counter, weaving her way out of the woman’s direct line of sight.

  
  


She finds herself browsing the sexual health area, because of course that’s where she’d end up. And there’s a pretty impressive display on genital warts, with a sizeable cardboard cutout of a fleshy blob with huge eyes and long eyelashes, which she assumes is meant to be a semi-cute cartoon wart. It has a little speech bubble coming out of its head too, with several horrible little wart facts, like: _You can develop symptoms years after having sex with someone who’s infected_. 

  
  


Eve shudders, because that’s a pretty terrifying thought, isn’t it?

  
  


Eve then starts to wonder if Ambleside has a problem with genital warts specifically, or whether they just target one random STD at a time.

  
  


The bell on the pharmacy door goes then, distracting her from her wart-thoughts, and Eve watches as an elderly gentlemen enters and slowly makes his way over to the counter, greeting the woman who’s serving.

  
  


They seem to know each other, and Eve takes the opportunity to duck down, hiding behind the genital wart display.

  
  


And that’s it then, Eve spends the next hour of her life crouched behind a cardboard cutout of a genital wart **.**

  
  


Eve uses the time wisely of course, mostly thinking about Villanelle... who wouldn’t be caught dead doing this... who would probably have a respiratory arrest from laughing so hard if she could see Eve right now...

  
  


And then Eve thinks about their recent conversations, and how it feels like a weight has been lifted. And then she thinks about how she can’t wait to show Villanelle what it feels like to be with someone for more than one night, what it feels like to be with someone you really care about...

  
  


And to do _normal stuff_. Because Villanelle had told her along time ago that she wants normal stuff, like watching movies and cooking dinner in a cool flat... but...

  
  


But what if they can’t ever have normal stuff? What if they’re on the run like this for weeks, or months, or years, even? With no money, just bouncing from one town to another?

  
  


Because that’s not sustainable, is it?

  
  


Blah. Eve sighs despondently. 

  
  


She’s broken out of her melancholy thoughts a few minutes later, when the two pharmacy ladies finally leave for lunch, chatting candidly about how slow their morning has been ( _not half as slow as mine, Eve thinks_ ) and how they can’t wait to have a hot cup of tea, locking the door behind them with a jangle of keys.

  
  


It’s eerily silent now, and Eve takes a few seconds to gather her thoughts and to take a few deep, calming breaths. 

  
  


She then stands suddenly and with great purpose, cracking her head on the genital wart display unit and cursing. She puts her hand to the top of her head automatically, because it’s stinging, but she doesn’t have any time to feel sorry for herself, or to lament at how bloody clumsy she is.

  
  


Eve bolts for the counter, looks along the full length of it, puzzled by how you access the stock area without vaulting over the top, as she had already imagined Villanelle would do.

  
  


Fuck it.

  
  


She vaults over the top. Only it’s more of a lunge, scrabble and slide, and she crashes face first onto the floor on the other side.

  
  


****

  
  


Villanelle wakes from sleep to find Eve standing at the foot of their bed.

  
  


“Hey.” Villenelle squints at her, pushing back the cool flannel that’s slipped down to almost completely cover her eyes. She immediately notices the fresh cut on Eve’s temple and the start of a pretty big bruise in the centre of her forehead. “What the hell happened to you??”

  
  


Eve grumbles and kicks off her shoes.

  
  


“I fell on my face and hit my head on a display unit about genital warts.”

  
  


“Ew...” Villanelle grimaces, as Eve expression darkens.

  
  


“ _Don’t_.”

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“Whatever you’re going to say, _don’t_. I’m not in the mood.”

  
  


“O-Kay...”

  
  


Eve climbs onto the bed, collapsing face down and waving a small white box in Villanelle’s general direction.

  
  


“Here.” She says, her voice muffled into the duvet.

  
  


“Oooohhhh!” Villanelle takes the box, inspecting it. “Amoxicillin 500mg, you got the strong stuff! Nice.” 

  
  


“Did I? Great.” Eve rolls over now, so she’s on her back and staring up at the ceiling. “They’d better fix you, because I’m not doing that again. It was incredibly stressful, and I really hurt my head.”

  
  


“Poor baby.” Villanelle pouts, lifting the cold, damp flannel from her forehead and holding it invitingly towards Eve. “Want to borrow my flannel?”

  
  


Eve gives her a sideways glance.

  
  


“...Maybe.”

  
  


“It feels _sooo_ good.” Villanelle insists as she places it over Eve’s blossoming bruise, her hand smoothing back Eve’s crazy curls at the same time. “See?”

  
  


“Mm, that is pretty good. Thank you.”

  
  


Villanelle shifts onto her side, nuzzling her face a little closer to Eve’s.

  
  


“I was very worried about you.”

  
  


“Were you.”

  
  


“Mmhmm.” Villanelle strokes Eve’s hair again, watching as her effortless curls fall through her fingers and ping straight back into place.

  
  


“That’s strange, because you looked pretty sound asleep just then, for someone who was supposedly so worried about me?”

  
  


“Eve!” Villanelle gasps, feigning outrage. “I was in a very light sleep. Barely a doze.”

  
  


“Right. Such a light sleep that I’d been back for at least ten minutes before you even noticed?”

  
  


“Shut up. I _was_ worried.” Villanelle downturns her lips a little. “But I’m also sick, Eve. And I need my rest.”

  
  


“I know, I’m only teasing, and I’m glad you were able to get some rest.” Eve turns her head towards her now, studying her face. And Villanelle knows she’s still pale and icky looking, because she spent ten minutes in front of the bathroom mirror trying to make the best of herself before ultimately giving up. “Do you feel any better?”

  
  


Villanelle drops her eyes to Eve’s lips, lingering there for several beats too long, before remembering to make eye contact again. Eve smirks.

  
  


“Uhhh...what was the question?”

  
  


“You can’t be feeling _too_ _bad_ , then.”

  
  


“Not right this second...”

  
  


Villanelle slips her hand behind Eve’s head and draws her closer, their bodies rolling together as Eve turns fluidly onto her side. 

  
  


Villanelle moans almost immediately, quickly losing herself in the softness of Eve’s mouth and finding relief in the coldness of the flannel, which is now pressed between their two foreheads.

  
  


“Was that moan for me or for the flannel?” Eve asks breathily as she pulls back, her lips still so close they bump Villanelle’s as she speaks.

  
  


“I can’t lie, it was definitely meant for the both of you.”

  
  


Eve laughs and then starts kissing her again, nudging her onto her back, their hands finding each other’s, twisting together, clasping briefly, before Eve breaks hers away to ease the duvet back.

  
  


“Oh...” Eve sighs sadly as she looks down. “You got dressed.”

  
  


Villanelle grins, chucking the wet flannel onto her bedside table, before it starts to get in their way.

  
  


“I can get undressed again?”

  
  


“Yes, good idea.” Eve nods agreeably.

  
  


Villanelle has her t-shirt off in seconds, ignoring the slight spin of the room as she lifts her head briefly from the pillow.

  
  


“ _Just_ a t-shirt?” Eve asks, a reference no doubt to their earlier conversation. Villanelle shrugs as Eve pulls the duvet back further to peek at Villanelle’s lower half. “Ohh, you have knickers on?”

  
  


“ _Panties_ , Eve. Knickers sound like something an old lady wears.”

  
  


“Panties.” Eve amends, touching their lacy edge, and Villanelle can’t stop herself from shivering. “Are you okay?”

  
  


“Uh-huh.”

  
  


Eve leans back in to kiss her again, not spending long at her mouth this time, her lips drifting to her neck and her hands running down her chest.

  
  


Villanelle bites her lower lip, trying to keep her focus on Eve’s warm mouth and hands, and desperately trying to ignore the coldness that’s sweeping across the rest of her skin, leaving behind it a trail of ugly little goosebumps. 

  
  


And then more shivering starts up, the irrepressible kind that makes her teeth chatter.

  
  


And within seconds, Eve’s delightful, teasing ministrations come to an abrupt halt.

  
  


“Oh shit, Villanelle, sorry!” Eve has the thick duvet pulled over them in seconds, her hands attempting to rub the goosebumps away. “I got carried away.”

  
  


“You don’t have to stop?” Villanelle insists weakly, although she already knows there’s no way in hell she’ll be able to convince her to carry on now. 

  
  


Eve fixes her with a firm stare.

  
  


“I do. And you need to take your antibiotics.”

  
  


“Ugh.” Villanelle mutters as Eve roots around on the bed for the box, which got lost somewhere in the heat - or chill - of the moment.

  
  


“What are you looking at that for?” Villanelle asks several minutes later, when Eve has found the box, and is now halfway through reading the information leaflet that was tucked inside it.

  
  


“I’m seeing how long these things take to work...”

  
  


“Ah...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was on a roll today, I completed this chapter, wrote the next one and started on another one :O whattttt. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it, sorry that the slow burn is the slowest burn that ever burned. But it is burning.
> 
> I had fun writing Eve's theft scene and taking her out of her comfort zone a bit. Bless her little dented head (is that 4 head injuries now?), so proud of her though for getting the job done!
> 
> As always I love your comments so please do comment if you're out there <3


	21. Too Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh it's a little tiny baby chapter - sorry about that, but I did start a poll (I asked one person - you know who you are) and this was the voted in, so.
> 
> BUT on the bright side you got it super fast, only 24 hours after the last one!
> 
> It's just fun and fluffy and cheeky stuff, really.

Villanelle always has good dreams when she sleeps next to Eve. She never dreams about Russia or her Mama, and there’s never smells of fire, or burning flesh or gasoline. She dreams of nice things, and more often than not those nice things involve Eve, but sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they’re just regular, happy things like...

  
  


“Do you hear that?” She whispers into Eve’s chest, still only half conscious as the words leave her, but quickly becoming aware of how hot and sweaty she is pressed against Eve’s body.

  
  


“Hear what?” Eve replies quietly. “I think you’re dreaming, hmm?”

  
  


Villanelle pulls back, shoving the duvet off so she can get some much needed air.

  
  


“No, no, I definitely...I heard...”

  
  


Eve fixes her with a slightly concerned but mostly adoring look. 

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“An ice cream van.”

  
  


Eve lifts her eyebrows.

  
  


“I doubt you did... it’s October? And it’s half past seven at night.”

  
  


“I did.” Villanelle pouts, and then says very plainly: “Eve, I want ice cream.”

  
  


“Villanelle, did you hear what I just said? Where am I supposed to get you ice cream at this time of night, in _October?_ ”

  
  


More pouting. Villanelle really pushes her lower lip out now, and widens her eyes.

  
  


“Eveeee...”

  
  


“No? I need some rest too, you know. I spent a good hour crouched behind a genital wart cut-out earlier, not to mention kamikazeing my way over a pretty high counter to steal drugs for you! And you’ve not even said thank you? So, your ice cream will just have to wait until tomorrow.”

  
  


Villanelle huffs and folds her arms.

  
  


“Stop sulking?”

  
  


Villanelle ignores her, staring hard at the other side of the room until her eyes start to tear.

  
  


“You’re not actually pretending to cry, are you?”

  
  


“Yes.” Villanelle sniffles, and it’s very reminiscent of the time she’d pretended to cry in Eve’s kitchen. Villanelle is a very good pretend cryer, if she does say so herself.

  
  


“ _Oh for God’s sake_...”

  
  


Villanelle coughs now, partly because she needs to and partly to make Eve feel bad.

  
  


“Stop it. _Villanelle?_ I said stop it?”

  
  


The coughing finally subsides, and she gives Eve another wide eyed look.

  
  


“Please? I’m sooo hot, Eve, and ice cream would feel sooo good right now...”

  
  


Eve’s wavering slightly, she can tell. So she continues:

  
  


“And I’ve hardly eaten anything **all day**...”

  
  


“Ugh! Fine! I’ll go and get you some bloody ice cream!”

  
  


“Yay!” Villanelle exclaims, as Eve gets to her feet and starts pulling one of Megan’s hoodies over her head. “I want it in a cone, please.”

  
  


Eve stares at her, hard.

  
  


“Fine. Ice cream, in a cone. I’ll see what I can do.”

  
  


Eve’s gone for a long time. Long enough for Villanelle to almost nod off again, but the promise of ice cream keeps her semi-alert. 

  
  


And when Eve does return, she looks windswept and frown-y, and she’s holding a strawberry Cornetto.

“There. One ice cream.” Eve says with very little fanfare.

  
  


Villanelle presses her lips together and shakes her head. 

  
  


“No... that’s not what I wanted at all.”

  
  


Eve’s whole body stiffens.

  
  


“What do you mean it’s not what you wanted? It’s _an_ _ice cream_ , _in a cone_. And you asked for _an_ _ice cream_ , _in a cone?!_ ”

  
  


“M, I know, but that’s a _Cornetto_.”

  
  


Something in the back of Villanelle’s brain says that she should feel a little bit bad for Eve, and that she should maybe just be grateful and accept the Cornetto.

  
  


But she doesn’t.

  
  


“I want a _proper_ ice cream.”

  
  


“Villanelle, I swear to God...”

  
  


“The white, whippy kind? With a flake.”

  
  


Eve’s face goes a funny colour now, and Villanelle wonders if she’s about to pass out, or yell at her.

  
  


“ _YOU NEVER MENTIONED A POXY FLAKE?!_ ”

  
  


It’s the latter, then.

  
  


“Eve, your yelling is giving me a headache? I already don’t feel well?"

  
  


Eve throws the Cornetto at Villanelle’s head, barely missing, and then storms back out.

  
  


****

  
  


It takes Eve another hour to find white, whippy ice cream in a cone, with a flake. An hour of going into various restaurants and making the same specific request, until she finally finds some in a little pizzeria.

  
  


And when Eve eventually gets back to their room, Villanelle is sound asleep. Of course she is.

  
  


“WAKEY, WAKEY!” Eve shouts as she flips the main light on, causing the blonde to lurch upright and almost fall out of bed.

  
  


“What the _fuck_ , Eve?!”

  
  


“Wake up and eat this ice cream, or I’m going to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine!”

  
  


“ _Eveee_?!” Villanelle groans, rubbing her eyes. “So aggressive? Of course I am going to eat it!“

  
  


“One white, whippy ice cream in a cone, with a flake.” Eve presents, handing it over just as it starts to drip. “Enjoy.”

  
  


“It’s a bit melted?” Villanelle comments, and then quickly adds upon seeing Eve’s face: “But I like it like that! Thank you.”

  
  


“You’re welcome.” Eve nods, flopping back down onto the bed. “I’m tired.”

  
  


“Yeah?” Villanelle asks, licking her ice cream slowly. “Really, really tired, or just a little bit?”

  
  


“Really, really tired.”

  
  


“Ah.” Villanelle sighs heavily. “That’s too bad.”

  
  


Eve turns to look at her, almost not daring to pursue the obvious cliff-hanger she’s just dropped.

  
  


“Why... why is it _too bad?_ ”

  
  


Damn her insatiable curiosity.

  
  


“Well.” Villanelle licks at her ice cream some more, and Eve permits herself to watch her for a few seconds. “I’ve been _sooo_ hot and sweaty, I was thinking how nice it would be to take that shower now...”

  
  


Eve narrows her eyes.

  
  


“You can take a shower by yourself, you’re not _that_ ill.”

  
  


“I might fall, Eve?”

  
  


“Stop?! You’ve been such an asshole tonight. I’m done.”

  
  


“I knew you’d chicken out.”

  
  


“What?”

  
  


Villanelle’s tongue circles the ice cream now as she rotates the cone round in her hand, and Eve rolls her eyes before turning away.

  
  


“Earlier, when you said we’d see about the shower? I knew you’d chicken out.”

  
  


“I’m not _chickening out?_ I’ve just had a very long, hard day of doing stuff for you, and now it’s late, and I’m tired and I want to go bed.”

  
  


“Sick of me already, huh?”

  
  


“No?!”

  
  


“That could really hurt my feelings, Eve.”

  
  


Eve covers her face with her hands and groans.

  
  


“I don’t mind doing stuff for you, Villanelle. And I actually _like_ looking after you, okay?”

  
  


“Doesn’t seem like it.” Villanelle says with a crunch of her cone. “Seems to me like you don’t really care if I fall over in the shower.”

  
  


“ _Really?_ You’re actually going to continue on with this whole falling over in the shower charade?”

  
  


Villanelle bites into her cone again and nods.

"It could happen."

  
  


****

  
  


Villanelle finally gets Eve into the bathroom with her.

  
  


It’s a small space, with barely enough room for one person, let alone two, and as soon as she turns the shower on the space is filled with thick steam.

  
  


“I’m supervising, remember? That’s all.” Eve says, as she sits down on the closed toilet lid.

  
  


Villanelle raises her eyebrows as she slips out of her underwear.

  
  


“You know that’s just a posh word for _watching_ , right? So filthy.”

  
  


“Shut up. I’m _not_ watching.”

  
  


And to Eve’s credit, she musters up enough willpower to turn away and stare at the little avocado coloured sink, with its two drippy taps.

  
  


“Suit yourself.” Villanelle shrugs as she quickly steps into the warm water, pulling the shower curtain shut behind her. “ _Oh my God_...”

  
  


“Can you not do that?”

  
  


“Do what?”

  
  


“Moan and... _stuff_.”

  
  


“But it feels sooooo good. Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”

  
  


“Villanelle...”

  
  


“What? You need a shower too, Eve. Especially after being on that disgusting pharmacy floor.”

  
  


“That’s... a really good point. But, I’m still not getting in there with you.”

  
  


Villanelle huffs and then whines:

  
  


“ _Whyyyyy_?”

  
  


“Because you’re sick, that’s why! And I can barely control myself around you when you’re dry and wearing clothes, so?”

  
  


Villanelle pokes her head out from behind the curtain now, pleased to find Eve looking in her direction.

  
  


“Maybe I don’t want you to control yourself?”

  
  


“For fucks sake...” Eve throws her head back. “Will you just do what you need to do in there, and get out so I can go to bed?”

  
  


Villanelle rolls her eyes, reluctantly pulling the curtain closed as she reaches for the shampoo, squirting a blob into her palm and lathering it into her sweaty hair. She closes her eyes, wondering if Eve can see her silhouette or not. She decides to assume that she can, and therefore makes sure to stand in the most flattering ways she can think of, angling her body this way and that.

  
  


The heat and steam from the shower is nice, until it isn’t anymore. She’s partway through shampooing her hair for a second time when the steam, mixed with the perfumed scent of bathroom products, starts to make her cough. And the coughing is just horrible, hacking, loose and painful. Villanelle leans against the floral bathroom tiles whilst she struggles to catch her breath, and then the pounding in her head starts, like it always does when she coughs too much. 

  
  


“Are you okay?” Eve calls in to her. “You’re coughing a lot?”

  
  


Villanelle would love to make some remark about stating the obvious but that would require air.

  
  


Villanelle continues coughing as she turns the water off, and then lowers herself shakily into the bottom of the tray, waiting for her lungs to reacclimatise again.

  
  


“Villanelle, if you’re dicking about to get me in there?”

  
  


“I’m not.” She replies finally, clearing her throat. “Can you get me a towel?”

  
  


Villanelle closes her eyes for a moment, listening to the soft scuff of Eve’s feet on the bathroom floor and then the crinkle of the shower curtain as she draws it back a little.

  
  


“What the fuck are you doing down there?” 

  
  


“Dying.”

  
  


Eve looks her up and down, as though trying to establish her level of credibility.

  
  


“You still have shampoo in your hair?” She says finally. “You need to wash it out.”

  
  


“Ugh, Eve. I don’t care? I just want to get out. I don’t feel well. Give me the towel?”

  
  


Eve’s eyes flit over her again, her lips pursing, and then she pulls the curtain closed again.

  
  


“Wait there. I’m coming in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY. She's coming in.
> 
> Again, sorry it was short.
> 
> And what a cliff-hanger to leave you all with. 
> 
> I don't know if I have much more to say tonight... still loving writing this. Still no idea when it will end!? Do people like potentially domestic fluff chapters when the main plot is over, or do you like a really firm established ending, and the rest just left to your imagination? Not that we're there yet. Don't panic guys. I think we still have many chapters to go lol.


	22. Karma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's just cut right to the chase and say that if you see a Russian word (or three to be precise) it means 'fuck'. 
> 
> Soooo... yes... just read it. Maybe alone? I don't know.

Eve strips down to her underwear, not really giving too much thought to the situation she’s about to throw herself into.

  
  


It doesn’t seem to be too big a deal on the surface, she’s just helping Villanelle, right? Villanelle who happens to be wet and naked, and in the shower.

  
  


But also sick. And again, in need of help.

  
  


Context is everything, Eve decides, and context dictates that she’s just being selfless and heroic again.

  
  


“Eve? Can you hurry up, I’m getting cold.”

  
  


Right. 

  
  


And also, Villanelle has technically seen her _mostly_ naked. And she’s seen Villanelle _completely_ naked. So this isn’t new, it’s just...

  
  


...an incredibly erotic fantasy that’s actually so close to coming true. Minus the sick part.

  
  


Damn it.

  
  


“ _Eve?!_ ”

  
  


“Alright, alright, I’m coming.”

  
  


Eve decides to take her bra off at the last minute, yanking the shower curtain back somewhat brusquely as enters.

  
  


“Stay down there.” Eve tells her, trying to ignore the way Villanelle is looking up at her, with her mouth hanging open. “I’ll just rinse your hair off, okay?”

  
  


Villanelle nods, still gaping up at her as Eve grabs the shower head off the wall and turns the water back on.

  
  


“You’re still wearing your knickers.” Villanelle says finally. “Why?”

  
  


“ _Panties_.” Eve throws back pointedly. “And yes. Because...”

  
  


Eve doesn’t have much in the way of an explanation, because now that she’s taken her bra of she can hardly say she was protecting her modesty, or that she trying to keep things un-sexy.

  
  


“Just because. Okay?”

  
  


“Okay.” Villanelle closes her eyes, leaning her head against Eve’s legs. “Sorry I’ve been an asshole tonight.”

  
  


“Yeah, well. You’re allowed to be a bit of an asshole if you don’t feel well.” Eve relents. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said you needed help in the shower.”

  
  


Villanelle laughs, opening her eyes again.

  
  


“Mm, well, I was just saying that to get you in here. I didn’t actually think I’d need it.”

  
  


“Ahh, karma can be a bitch like that.”

  
  


”Depends on how you look at it...”

  
  


Eve smiles softly, giving Villanelle’s hair one more run through.

  
  


“Right, I’ve washed it all out. Do you think you can get up now?”

  
  


Villanelle doesn’t answer, just slowly rises into a standing position, leaning a little on the tiled wall for support.

  
  


And Eve immediately feels like she’s lost her vantage point, now that Villanelle is the one looking down at her. Water droplets beading and dripping down her skin.

  
  


“Ummm...” Eve finds herself mumbling, not quite sure which direction to point the shower head in, so she just sort of sprays it ineffectively at their feet. “Do you want conditioner or-“

  
  


Villanelle cuts through her sentence with a kiss, it’s short but deep enough to force Eve to take a step backwards in order to keep her balance.

  
  


“You didn’t think you were going to get away with just washing my hair, did you?”

  
  


“Oh, fuck...” Eve murmurs, and the shower head hits the floor with a clang as her hands grab at Villanelle’s forearms and push her back against the wall. Water is shooting up everywhere now, as they kiss again, the shower head rocking back and forth in the tray, drenching them both from head to toe. Or maybe it’s technically from toe to head...

  
  


But who really cares about technicalities right now? Not Eve, that’s for sure. 

  
  


Villanelle’s breathing is fast and loud, and Eve makes sure to give her frequent breaks to fill her irritated lungs, kissing her way down her neck and breasts, while Villanelle’s irregular pants and gasps fill her ears.

  
  


And she knows they’ve gone too far this time, that they can’t just hit the pause button and pick this back up at a later date.

  
  


Eve, still kissing fervently, brings a hand to Villanelle’s forehead, checking for fever.

  
  


“What are you doing?” Villanelle puffs out, sinking a little lower, her back still pressed against the slippery tiles.

  
  


“Checking you’re up to this.”

  
  


“Eve, I am _so_ up for this.”

  
  


Eve swallows, grabbing hold of Villanelle’s hand as she steps back.

  
  


“Bed, now.”

  
  


And then they’re rushing out of the shower, not even bothering to shut the water off, their wet bodies colliding together in a sort of awkward walk-waltz towards the bedroom, bashing into numerous objects as they go but remaining completely undeterred.

  
  


“Eve.” Villanelle croaks out, when the back of her legs finally hit the bed. “I’m fine, but you’ll have to drive tonight. Is that okay?”

  
  


Eve’s brain is running at a million miles an hour, and is currently very preoccupied with the discovery that if she dips her head down a little then she’s at just the right height to fully appreciate Villanelle’s very fabulous breasts. 

  
  


“ _What?_ What about... _cars_?”

  
  


Villanelle exhales, scratching her head.

  
  


“Not cars, Eve? Drive, as in, the sex. You know?”

  
  


“Oh... oh, yes.” Eve nods, still looking at Villanelle’s breasts. “Yes, I know.”

  
  


“You really like boobs, don’t you.”

  
  


“I really love your tits, yes.”

  
  


And then they’re back at it again, and this time it’s Villanelle kissing Eve’s neck, her hands sliding down the waistband of her damp cotton briefs. And Eve knows it’s not just the shower that’s made them damp, and Villanelle must be thinking along the same lines, because she whispers:

  
  


“Your panties are _so_ _wet_ , Eve...”

  
  


Eve’s panties are round her ankles before she can even reply. And Eve immediately retaliates, shoving Villanelle backwards onto the bed, surprised when she hears a high pitched yelp in response.

  
  


“Oh my God, did I hurt you?” Eve asks staring down at the shocked looking blonde.

  
  


“No, no... it’s...” Villanelle rolls over slightly, baring her back and revealing a sticky mess of liquid pink ice cream, and the crumbs of a now crushed cone on the sheets.

  
  


The fucking Cornetto.

  
  


Eve feels a ripple of frustration go through her, because they’re SO close and she’s not about to be taken down by a stupid, unwanted ice cream.

  
  


And Villanelle just stares up at her, waiting to see what she’s going to do about it.

  
  


Eve points a little further up the bed.

  
  


“Get over there, on your front.”

  
  


Villanelle scrambles over to the clean spot, doing exactly as she’s told, and Eve climbs up behind her, pinning her to the mattress as she licks her way up from the base of her spine to the space between her shoulder blades, the taste of strawberry ice cream and Villanelle mingling on her tongue.

  
  


“Eve...” Villanelle squirms, her breathing ragged again, and Eve concedes that being on chest may not be the best position for her right now.

  
  


“Roll over.” 

  
  


Villanelle complies again, spreading her legs around Eve’s lower back and drawing her into her. Not that Eve needs any drawing.

  
  


“Fuck...” Eve breathes out, her eyes darting down Villanelle’s body again. Watching the way her erratic breaths suck in under her ribs, and how her taught stomach flutters with the rapid thrum of her heart. “You are so fucking...”

  
  


Beautiful?

Hot?

Gorgeous?

  
  


_All of the above_.

  
  


“Villanelle, I...” Eve gives a little shake of her head. “Villanelle, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  
  


****

  
  


Villanelle isn’t surprised when Eve has a crisis of confidence. She’d expected it to happen sooner actually, certainly hadn’t expected Eve to be as bossy as she is, ordering her here, there and everywhere and telling her when to roll over.

  
  


It’s pleasantly surprising, actually. 

  
  


And Villanelle is already so wet, she doesn’t think it matters if Eve knows what she’s doing, so long as she’s doing it in vaguely the right area.

  
  


“My tits, touch them some more.”

  
  


Eve blows out a cool breath over Villanelle’s chest, kissing the space between her breasts, cupping them and running her fingers around them. And then her tongue, oh God her tongue.

  
  


Villanelle restrains her moans, instead letting out short, stuttered mews and gasps.

  
  


And Eve seems to remember herself again, calling on her knowledge from the body mapping, and diverting her attention to the sensitive spot that runs along Villanelle’s lower abdomen, in line with her scar. Peppering the skin with kisses and licks, and swirls of her tongue.

  
  


Villanelle’s hips lift of their own accord, and she recognises that heavy, full, pulling feeling that occupies the space between her legs and nestles deep in her belly.

  
  


“ _Fuck_... **fuck** , _Eve..._ ”

  
  


And Eve hesitates only for a second or two more, before slipping her hand down and nestling it against that sopping, throbbing space. Her eyes follow too, perhaps to witness the affect she’s having on Villanelle, as she squirms and bucks against her hand.

  
  


“Please, please...” Villanelle _never_ begs, but she does tonight, for Eve. She would beg endlessly for Eve if she asked her to.

  
  


“Ssh.” Eve silences, kissing her again, and oh there is so much feeling in it, so much warmth, it makes Villanelle’s whole body light up.

  
  


“Please, Eve.” Villanelle repeats, her legs beginning to tremble now, and Eve’s feeling her forehead again, only there’s no fever, she’s just so utterly overcome by Eve.

  
  


“How?” Eve asks, drawing her hand back slightly. “How should I...”

  
  


Villanelle slides her own hands down her stomach now, using one to hold Eve’s in place, and the other to show her where to go and what to do, being careful not to send herself over the edge too prematurely as she does so.

  
  


Only who’s she kidding, she’s definitely going over the edge prematurely tonight, she’s about one slip of the finger away from coming all over herself.

  
  


And then Eve’s fingers start to mimic her actions, nudging Villanelle’s own hands rather impatiently out of the way. And suddenly it’s all Eve, Eve circling her, Eve teasing her, pushing inside of her, and Villanelle practically arches up off the bed like she’s fucking levitating.

  
  


Languages are spilling from her lips, clashing together in incomprehensible sentences, a butchered mess of French, Spanish, Mandarin and Russian. Of course Russian.

  
  


Блядь! Блядь! Блядь... 

  
  


And then it rolls over her like a wave, scratch that, like a _**tsunami**_ , tearing down everything in its path, drenching her thighs and the sheets, muscles spasming over and over as she yells out Eve’s name so loudly she briefly wonders if they’re going to get thrown out of here.

  
  


And then it stops.

  
  


The world stops.

  
  


****

  
  


Eve wonders where Villanelle goes after, her muscles still fluttering, eyes rolling and unfocused, and breaths shuddering out of her in scattered puffs. Her cheeks have flushed a bright, hot pink, and it’s a shade that Eve has never seen on her before, not even in the throes of fever.

  
  


“Villanelle, hey, come back to me.” She whispers in her ear.

  
  


And Villanelle replies, still in Russian, or at least Eve thinks it’s Russian - it’s all rough, with lots of thick sounds.

  
  


“In English?” Eve reminds, unable to hide her smile as Villanelle frowns and opens and closes her mouth a few times. As though the English language is suddenly completely lost to her. 

  
  


“Hi.” Is what she eventually comes out with, mouth smiling and soft eyes lethargically trying to track Eve’s face, still rolling back with every blink.

  
  


“Hi.” Eve returns, kissing her again and enjoying the moan she immediately gets in response, recognising that Villanelle’s body is still in hyperdrive, completely oversensitive to every touch.

  
  


So she touches her again, of course she does, trailing her mouth down her chest, tracing her fingers across her stomach.

  
  


And Villanelle’s breath is hitching again, ribcage rising, her hands, which were limp and splayed at her sides, suddenly animated and reaching out this way and that in uncoordinated, grasping bursts.

  
  


They find Eve’s hair for a while, tugging and twisting, until she inhales sharply and lets go when Eve dips into her centre again, and again.

  
  


And Eve has barely started touching her, slick fingertips working their way round her, still getting to know this part of her, not even finding a rhythm when there’s a stuttered cry of:

  
  


“ _ **E-EVE...**_

  
  


And Villanelle comes again, not quite as hard as the first time but still pretty damn hard, enough to bring about another flurry of half-languages and to lift her hips from the bed, toes curling.

  
  


And Eve can’t take her eyes off her, can’t miss one second of her, can’t believe **she** did this to her... _again_...

  
  


“Fuck.” Eve breathes out as Villanelle drops back down, limbs still twitching, shivering a little now.

  
  


Eve reaches quickly for the duvet, which is bunched at the foot of the bed, and draws it over them, committing their bodies to these sheets for the night, stickied with Villanelle and ice cream. 

  
  


Villanelle exhales suddenly and loudly, bringing one hand to her face, and Eve takes a moment to unravel her expression.

  
  


“Are you...” Eve leans in closer, keeping her voice quiet. “Are you _embarrassed_?”

  
  


Villanelle clears her throat, peeking at Eve from between her fingers.

  
  


“Uh, a little, yeah.”

  
  


“Why?”

  
  


A thick swallow, and Villanelle’s eyes drift upwards and away for a moment as she brings her hand down. Eve respects it, although longs to pull her back to her again.

  
  


“I... that’s not...” A sharp breath. “I’ve _never_... _so fast_...before...” 

  
  


“You don’t have to be embarrassed about that?” Eve replies, kissing the side of her face and jawline, as Villanelle maintains her slightly disengaged position and scrunches up her face.

  
  


“I came like a teenage boy.”

  
  


“You didn’t _look_ or _sound_ like a teenage boy, trust me.”

  
  


That gets a slight glance in her direction.

  
  


“Say more nice things about me.”

  
  


“Oh wowww, Villanelle. You want to hear how hot you look when you come?”

  
  


“Yes?”

  
  


Eve laughs, and then whispers in her ear:

  
  


“You’re like a goddess, and it makes me _so_ wet.”

  
  


Eve pulls back to find herself swimming in two big, black pupils, and Villanelle makes a half choked noise followed by a small cough.

  
  


“Do you have any idea what I’d do to you right now if I wasn’t sick?”

Eve gives a slow nod, because she’s had quite a lot of ideas about it actually. 

  
  


And Villanelle’s eyes change again, suddenly raking over Eve’s naked chest as she pushes up onto her elbows.

  
  


“I mean, I could probably-“

  
  


“No.” Eve pushes her back down, and it’s surprisingly easy, Villanelle’s body providing little to no resistance and just spilling back against the pillows. “You’re spent.”

  
  


“I am not spent.” Is Villanelle’s stubborn reply, but she doesn’t try to get up again, her hand instead finding Eve’s and bringing it up to her chest. She looks down at their hands, entwining them together thoughtfully. “You have very small, very amazing hands, Eve.”

  
  


“Thank you.” Eve chuckles, her curiosity spiking again, as they enter into more unknown territory. And Eve recalls how Villanelle had said she’s never laid with anyone like this after, and wonders what’s going through her head, so she asks her: “What are you thinking about right now?”

  
  


“You, but then I am always thinking about you so that’s not new.”

  
  


“What else?”

  
  


Eve is surprised when Villanelle suddenly leans up to kiss her, a different kind of kiss, slower, longer, almost lazy.

  
  


“I was thinking I wanted to do that.”

  
  


“Mm, what else?”

  
  


A few heavy blinks, more fingers wrapping in fingers against Villanelle’s chest.

  
  


“I’m thinking how good this feels. I’m thinking that I want to stay awake all night, just like this.”

  
  


Eve sighs around a smile. 

  
  


“You’re adorable.”

  
  


Villanelle’s nose scrunches at that.

  
  


“I don’t think so.”

  
  


“Tell me some more.” Eve says, nestling her head on Villanelle’s shoulder and closing her eyes. “Please? I like to know what’s going on in your head.”

  
  


“That’s because you’re obsessed with me.”

  
  


They both laugh a little, and it feels so easy and light, so perfect.

  
  


“I’m thinking... that you hair smells incredible.” Villanelle breathes it in, her head lifting briefly from her pillows. “Like coconuts.”

  
  


“Hmm, really? I haven’t used a coconut shampoo?” Eve queries with a frown. 

  
  


“It always smells like that.” Villanelle says simply with a yawn, which she quickly attempts to smother with the back of her hand. “And now I’m thinking about ice cream...”

  
  


Eve scoffs.

  
  


“Villanelle, I love you but I’m not going out to get you anymore ice cream tonight.”

  
  


Villanelle immediately stiffens, her hands stilling.

  
  


And Eve opens her eyes, turning to look at her.

  
  


“I just meant the ice cream that’s on the bed.” Villanelle murmurs, frowning deeply enough to crease her perfect forehead. “It’s sticky.”

  
  


“Oh...”

  
  


“Did you just say that you...?”

  
  


Eve somehow manages to give a very small nod.

  
  


“Yeah, I... I did.” A pause, as she summons some courage from God only knows where. “And I do. I mean I have, for a while I think. Like, really a lot, actually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it very difficult to write anything after a chapter like that.
> 
> What can I say really??? I worry a lot about whether I get these bits right so... if you want to be critical please be kind with it! 
> 
> I know you've had 3 updates in 3 days, which is just absolute overload, but I hate it when I'm ahead of you (is that weird?). So now we're all up to speed. I have started the next chapter but it has a way to go, so I'm afraid there's probably not going to be update 4 on day 4, although that would have been cool.
> 
> Completely unrelated to this fanfic (but not to this fandom)... God, not even sure I can type this, but we're all friends here, right?? So, I'm working today, and my job currently involves talking to people on the phone. And I'm talking to this woman........ and this part of my brain that definitely should not be lighting up, is lighting up, and making it very hard for me to focus on what she's saying. When I realise my issue is that she's got a bloody scouse accent, and all I can think about is Jodie Comer (hanging my head in shame at this point). And I didn't even think I had a thing for Jodie's accent, no offence intended Jodie if you're out there (God I hope she's not out there and reading this absolute embarrassment of a story), but apparently I do. Worse than that, I then had to go this woman's house and look her in the eye :/ please someone tell me they've been there too!?


	23. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh, it's a middle of the day update. I never do that, but my child is asleep and I thought why not!
> 
> Apologies I haven't replied to all your fabulous comments yet! But it was do that or post this (as I don't know how much time I have). I'll try and get to them after though. I LOOOVE them so please don't stop commenting :)
> 
> Summary - eeehhhhh it's a big chapter, lots of stuff goes on.

It’s the early hours of the morning and Villanelle feels awful. Really and truly awful.

At first she thinks it’s just the come down from coming so hard, combined with the reappearance of her fever. But then she finds herself getting more and more irrationally annoyed with Eve.

Eve who has barely had any sleep tonight because of her.

Eve who keeps faffing and fussing over her.

Eve who keeps cuddling her.

Eve who says she **loves** her.

“God, you’re burning up.” Eve murmurs, completely unaware of the shit storm that’s going on inside Villanelle’s head. 

Villanelle jerks away as Eve attempts to dab her forehead with the cold flannel. It feels nice, of course it does, but nice also feels really fucking confusing right now.

“Stop fighting me? Just lie still.” Eve says, frowning. “I’m trying to help you?”

“I don’t want your help.”

A sigh from Eve, one of those I’m-exasperated-with-you-but-I’m-trying-very hard-to-be-patient sighs. 

“I’m going to ignore that, because I don’t think you know what you’re saying right now.”

Villanelle scowls hard, and instantly regrets it when the pressure mounts behind her eyes and her head starts to throb in return.

“Ohh, God...” She moans, bringing one hand up to knead at her temple. “This is really, really bad.”

“I feel like it’s all my fault.” Eve contributes sadly, and Villanelle groans again because she knew this was coming sooner or later - she just _knew_ that Eve would start to feel guilty about having sex with her.

“Don’t you dare apologise for it.” Villanelle mutters back, hoping to put an end to it before it’s even begun.

“Right, no, I won’t.” A brief pause. “But-“

“Eve, please. Don’t.”

“Sorry.”

Eve goes back to dabbing her forehead, and Villanelle goes back to liking it and hating it in equal measure.

_Eve loves her_.

Eve LOVES her.

Or at least, Eve _THINKS_ she loves her.

Those thoughts keep multiplying, keep creeping in, worming their way into her brain like parasites, taking every tiny bit of good that’s in there and turning it toxic.

And Villanelle feels very toxic.

“I need air.” She says suddenly, her chest tightening like someone’s just placed a ten tonne weight on it. And she forces herself to sit up, pushes Eve’s hands away as she tries to stop her, ignores the spinning and swirling room as she gets to her feet and stumbles to the window.

It’s wooden and rickety, white paint flaking off as she tries to work the old fashioned lock, wiggling and pulling, vision lurching in and out, blurring at the edges.

“Villanelle-“

She blanks Eve out too, shrugs off her efforts to restrain her, to _control_ her, and finally the window latch gives, and cold, outside air is whooshing in, blowing through her hair and across her bare skin.

Villanelle breathes deep, sucking it in like she’s been starving for it, bracing her hands on the window sill.

And Eve is still ranting away behind her -

Villanelle, get away from there

Villanelle, you’re going to catch your death

Villanelle, come back to bed

Villanelle,

Villanelle,

Villanelle,

“SHUT UP!” She all but screams, and Eve, who is now only standing a foot away, the duvet from the bed in hand, visibly flinches. “You’re _suffocating_ me, Eve!”

Another flinch.

They only last a second a piece, the flinches, but they ingrain themselves in Villanelle’s brain, because in those two moments Eve looks wounded, like she’s just shot her all over again but with words this time.

“Okay...” Is her reply, her hands and the duvet she’s clutching dropping slightly. “Is this about what I said? After?”

“ _No_.”

**Yes.**

Eve sighs again, not like she’s exasperated this time, more like she’s sad and resigned.

“Just put this around you.” She moves close enough to drape the duvet over Villanelle’s shoulders, and Villanelle feels Eve’s breath on her neck and her soft fingers grazing her skin. “I’m going back to bed. Let me know if...” 

Eve turns then, doesn’t even finish her sentence, and Villanelle feels her stomach drop. 

And she wrestles with the two parts of herself. With the stubborn, mercilessly trained part of her, the part that Dasha moulded from raw shit into steel. God, how she hated hearing her say that, over and over again.

Because she isn’t all steel. Steel doesn’t bend, or break or bruise. Steel doesn’t get sick, or hurt and steel definitely doesn’t **cry**.

_You never cried as a baby_.

_Oksana_.

Villanelle cries now, just a little, not enough to let Eve hear. It’s the silent kind of crying she crafted in prison, because you can’t let people hear you cry in there, not if you want to survive anyway.

And Villanelle wonders which part of her Eve thinks she loves. Supposes she’d probably say _all of it_ , because Eve is reckless and all-encompassing like that. Or maybe Eve loves this version of her, this on the run, post-Russia, slightly neutered version. Stripped back of nearly everything that makes her, **her**. Or, makes her who she _tries to be_ , who she _thinks_ she is.

God, it’s confusing. Far more confusing that it ought to be. And maybe she really isn’t thinking straight after sex with Eve... amazing, beautiful, made-her-see-stars sex with Eve. 

Villanelle lets out a small whimper now, her temper subsiding, her fever breaking, and giving way to that slightly sorrowful feeling that chokes you in your throat, when you realise you’ve been an asshole to someone who didn’t really deserve it.

And Eve really doesn’t deserve it.

She shuffles back across the room, the surprisingly heavy duvet dragging behind her and tugging against the rough and well trodden strands of burgundy carpet. She peers into the bed, she peers at Eve. 

Eve who is bedded down without even a proper cover, looking small and cold under a single, flimsy sheet. Probably lying on the wet, gross ice cream puddle, too.

And Villanelle is not very finely tuned when it comes sympathy or empathy, but she feels something unpleasant inside her upon seeing Eve like that. Something that makes her want to _do_ something, something that makes her want to _change_ it.

So she bundles in next to her, dragging the big, heavy duvet with her and bunching it up around them both. And Eve, who is nearly asleep and beyond exhausted probably, from her nearly 24 hour stint of running around after Villanelle, lets out a tired grunt of recognition before opening one half-awake eye.

“Why.” She musters up. “Why are you looking at me like that.”

Villanelle is aware her face is uncomfortably close, and that her big eyes are staring rather too intently.

“Just ‘cause.”

“Ugh.” Is all Eve says, her eye closing again. “You can be so weird.”

“I know.” Villanelle whispers back. “I feel very weird a lot of the time.”

Two eyes now very reluctantly open. 

“God. Villanelle. I just want to sleep?”

“You can sleep? I don’t mind.”

“I can’t sleep with you staring at me like that?”

“I want to look at you.”

“It’s creepy.”

“Hmm...”

Eve shifts onto her back, forcing Villanelle to break the intensity of her stare.

“Are we going to talk about what just happened?” Eve asks tiredly, eyes closing again as Villanelle props herself up on one elbow.

“Do you think that I am two people, Eve?”

Eve exhales heavily through her nose before answering.

“I don’t know, honestly. Do we have to get into that now? I’m exhausted.”

“Hm.” Villanelle responds, unsatisfied. “I want to.”

“You can’t always have everything you want.”

Villanelle frowns.

“I know that, Eve. But you just asked if I wanted to talk about it?”

Eve groans loudly, as though realising her massive mistake.

“I meant about _us_ , and why you freaked out? I did not mean would you like to do an in-depth psychological assessment on the inner workings of your fucked up mind.”

“Right...” A pause. “But _maybe_ those two conversations are one and the same?”

“Oh my God...”

“And I didn’t freak out.”

Eve snorts.

“Oh, you did.”

“Only a little?”

“That was a _little_ freak out, was it?”

“Yes? I didn’t even throw anything.”

Eve makes a noise that can only be described as a half-laugh, half-cry, her hands coming up to cover her face. 

“I am so tired, Villanelle. Please. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Villanelle nods, her eyes still fixed on Eve, watching her as her face visibly slackens under her permission, her body relaxing back into her pillow.

“Eve.” Villanelle whispers, shifting so she’s pressed against her side. “I’m sorry.”

A sleepy sigh.

“I know.”

****

Eve sleeps heavily, so heavily she doesn’t wake until long after mid-day. 

The first thing she notices is how bright and warm the sun is, as it peeks in through the window and darts the odd, teasing beam across her face. The second thing she notices is that Villanelle has gone.

“Villanelle?” She calls out to be sure, running one hand over the empty space beside her, because that’s what you do isn’t it, when someone‘s next to you when you fall asleep and gone when you wake up? You check the temperature of the sheets, you establish a timeline.

The bed’s cold, which means that Villanelle’s been gone for a while. And Eve quickly realises that it’s completely irrelevant how long she’s been gone, because she’s still gone. And if Villanelle wants to be gone-gone, then it will be nearly impossible to find her.

Is Villanelle gone-gone?

Eve mentally slaps herself, because she can feel herself starting to get worked up as a flurry of thoughts infiltrate her mind - the primary one being that she had sex with Villanelle last night, and then - like an absolute idiot - told her that she loved her, and now she’s **gone**. And that’s an unlikely coincidence, as coincidences go.

Eve lends several minutes to recalling what happened last night, from the illicit way she’d watched Villanelle’s silhouette through the shower curtain, to the way Villanelle had laid herself bare for her on the bed, to the _I love you_ and the _you’re suffocating me_ , and the _I’m sorry_.

And she concludes that it’s no wonder she’s gone, after a night like that. A night of such unbridled exposure.

Eve runs her hand through her tangled hair, wishing with every second that passes without Villanelle, that she’d listened to her when she’d asked to talk last night. She wishes more than anything that she’d entertained her conversation about being two people: _Villanelle_ and _Oksana_. That she’d asked her more questions, and dug deeper into her past.

But she hadn’t. And now the moment’s gone, possibly forever, and it’s taken Villanelle with it.

“Good morningggg!” Villanelle’s unmistakable voice suddenly sings out, as she comes sashaying through the bedroom door. “Well, _afternoon_.” She amends, completely oblivious to the fact that Eve’s heart has almost just stopped beating.

“I thought... I thought you’d gone? Like, gone-gone?”

“Gone-gone?” Villanelle repeats back, with a mystified quirk of her eyebrows. 

“Yes.” Eve affirms with a dramatic wave of her hands. “ _Gone_.”

“I left you a note?” Villanelle says now, as she puts a drinks holder down at the foot of the bed. “In the bathroom? You didn’t see it?”

“No...” 

“I wrote it on the mirror in toothpaste.” She says somewhat proudly. “Does that mean you’ve not even gotten out of bed yet? _Eve!_ It’s nearly 2 o’clock in the afternoon! So lazy.”

Eve slumps back against the headboard, already feeling completely drained by this roller-coaster of an exchange.

“You seem in a good mood...”

“Yes! I am feeling much better, and I had _amazing_ sex last night.” Villanelle does an unexpected twirl. “Plus, new outfit. Do you like?”

Eve stares at the bubble-gum pink dress, only just now noticing how very puffy and princess-y it is, and wondering how on Earth Villanelle has managed to get enough money together to afford it.

“Yes, it’s... very nice. Have you been stealing from people again?”

“Eve, do you have any idea how many people I’d have to steal from to afford a dress like this?”

“Uh... not really. A lot?”

”Yes, Eve, a lot.” Villanelle mutters, smoothing down the netted fabric. “It’s much easier to just steal the dress.”

“Right... and now you’re just casually walking around in it? Because that big pink marshmallow isn’t conspicuous at all?”

Villanelle pouts.

“Ssh, you’re being grumpy and you’re ruining my fun.”

“Villanelle-“

“I went to the market too.” She continues, holding up a brown paper bag. “I thought we could have a picnic in bed again? Like when we were in therapy.”

“The therapy part makes it sound a little weird, but... yeah, sure.”

Villanelle smiles and starts to pull random food items out of the bag, throwing them onto the bed. 

“I got lots of fruit, a baguette, pate, pastries, bruschetta and some very expensive little cheeses...”

“It looks great, thank you.”

“You’re so welcome, Eve. Oh! And I got you something else too.”

Eve watches curiously as Villanelle scrabbles about in the bottom of the bag, finally producing a small book.

“There.” She holds it out. “Crossword puzzles.”

“You got me a whole book crossword puzzles?”

“Mmhmm.”

Eve takes the book, stares at it for a moment, and then looks back at Villanelle, scanning her still slightly peeky but nonetheless beautiful features.

“You know I love crossword puzzles...”

“I do.”

“And you bought me an entire book of them...”

“Yes, Eve?” Villanelle looks slightly irritated now. “It’s a thank you or whatever, for looking after me when I was sick. But I am a lot better now, so you don’t have to look after me anymore. You can do your crossword puzzles instead.”

Eve gives a slow nod of her head, and then looks down at the book again.

“I see.” 

“You don’t seem very grateful?”

“It’s not that I’m not grateful, it’s just...” Eve purses her lips. “It just seems a lot like you’re trying to gloss over what happened last night and-“

“I’m not glossing over anything, Eve. I said I had amazing sex, didn’t I?” Villanelle takes the two cups from the cup holder and flounces onto the bed, her dress fanning around her. “You should be happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes, that I am better, and that I bought you all of these nice things.” She holds one of the cups out towards Eve. “And coffee.”

Eve takes the coffee, still suspicious and still searching Villanelle’s face as she asks: 

“And you’re sure you’re fine?”

“Yep. I am fantastic, actually.”

Eve hums in response, already plotting her next move.

“Good.” She says finally. “And thank you again for all this, it’s _really_ sweet of you.”

Villanelle twitches almost imperceptibly at the sweet comment, but doesn’t say anything, leaving Eve no choice but to up the ante. She leans over, drawing a hand up and around the back of Villanelle’s head, sliding her fingers into the neat updo of her hair as she kisses her.

And Villanelle’s frozen, for the first few seconds at least, lips perfectly still and unmoving, and then, when she finally starts to kiss Eve back, it’s shallow and unsure.

Eve deepens the kiss, unsurprised when moments later, one of Villanelle’s hands pushes away from her chest with a muttered:

“Woah, Eve. Calm down? Let’s eat first, hm?”

And there it is. Eve’s proof that Villanelle is definitely not _fine_ or _fantastic_.

****

Villanelle is reclined on the bed, the skirt of her ridiculously cumbersome dress engulfing the space around her in a cloud of pink tulle. 

“We need to talk.” Eve says for the second, or maybe third time. Villanelle’s not sure, because she’s deliberately not been counting.

“Strawberry?” Villanelle says in response, plucking one from the punnet and holding it up towards Eve, who is sitting somewhat pensively beside her.

“You can’t just carry on ignoring me forever.”

Villanelle makes a disagreeable face, because she thinks she probably can, if she really wants to. She lifts the strawberry a bit higher, waving it expectantly until Eve reluctantly leans forward and bites it down to its stork.

“You’re annoying.” Eve mutters as she chews.

Villanelle grins and then opens her mouth, anticipating that Eve will return the favour - only, instead, she gets a grape pelted at her forehead.

“Hey!”

“Oops.” Eve says innocently.

“You did that on purpose!”

“I did, yeah.” Eve admits, laughing to herself. “Oh come on! Who’s being the grumpy one now? I was just having a bit of fun.”

“You’re ruining the picnic.” Villanelle replies sulkily, folding her arms.

“Ohh, you look so spoilt like that. Especially wearing that dress...”

“Stop it.”

“Fine, if you’re not going to talk then you’ll just have to listen. Last night-“

“LA, LA-LA, LAAA...” Villanelle sticks her fingers in her ears and smiles obnoxiously, until she sees Eve’s eyes go stony and her mouth stop moving. “I do not have to listen to you, Eve. I do not _have_ to do anything.”

“You’re _scared_.” Eve challenges now, picking up another grape and rolling it between her fingers. “You’re scared because of what I said, and now you’re being a dick about it.”

“Are you going to throw that one at me too?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” 

Villanelle glowers in response.

“If you don’t like the way that I am behaving, Eve, then maybe you do not love me so much after all. What do you think about that?”

Eve’s eyes gleam in response, like she’s thrilled to finally have some kind of reaction.

“I think, that I don’t have to like everything you do to love you.”

“Just as well.”

“It is, yes.”

They swap another icy look.

“You really think you mean it, don’t you?” Villanelle questions now, seeing the seriousness and sincerity on Eve’s face. “You really think you love me.”

Eve frowns, her shoulders lifting a little.

“Yes. Is that really so hard for you to believe?”

Villanelle stares at her again, her face twisting in amusement.

“You do remember that I’m a psychopath don’t you?”

Eve sighs heavily.

“We’ve been through this. You aren’t.”

“I might as well be. I’ve lived like one, I’ve killed like one.”

“Villanelle.” Eve repeats. “ _You aren’t._ ”

“Okay, how about this, then.” Villanelle turns onto her side, looking Eve dead in the eye. “So, you say can love me, even though I don’t think you really understand who I am. But _I_ can’t love _you_ , because you say I don’t understand what love is.” She wrinkles the bridge of her nose. “Pot, kettle, black, right?”

“No.”

“ _Yes_.”

“You’re just going round in circles, I already told you I was wrong when I said that, I already told you-“

“It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter, Eve. It’s how I feel. You don’t just get to rewrite everything now that you’ve changed your mind!”

“That’s not how it is, that’s not...” Eve crumples a little, folding in on herself, the grape now squashed between her fingers. “ _I love you_. And I can’t help it, or change it. But if you won’t accept it then, well... I guess that’s up to you.”

The starkness of Eve’s admission hits Villanelle full force all over again, and it leaves her all churned up, and mixed up and messed up inside. She pushes out a breath and rubs at her face.

“You can’t just dump it on me? You don’t just get to do that? It’s not...”

“Fair? I know. I’m sorry.”

Eve strokes Villanelle’s face with the back of her hand, the hills of her knuckles gliding against the smoothness of her cheek.

And then it hits her.

“But I did it to you, didn’t I.” Villanelle realises, somewhat reluctantly. “In Rome, I dumped it on you?”

“Mm, yes. You did.”

Eve continues stroking her face, and Villanelle turns into her touch ever so slightly. 

“I suppose that makes us even then.”

“Yes.” Eve agrees quietly. “I suppose it does.”

****

“This bed is disgusting.” 

“Hmm?” Eve glances briefly from her crossword puzzle book. “Two across: defy gravity.”

“This bed. It’s gross.” Villanelle taps her chin briefly and then answers: “Wicked, the musical.”

Eve takes a moment to twist in Villanelle’s arms and check the sheets. They’re crumbed from their earlier picnic, and of course the Cornetto mess still persists. Eve groans with revolution.

“It’s extremely gross. And no, you’re still not getting it. It’s three letters, Villanelle? See?” She taps the page. “Defy gravity, three letters. Come on, these are the easy ones.”

Villanelle yawns dramatically.

“This is boringggg. And I want new sheets.”

“I am _not_ asking Barbara to change these sheets. It’s _embarrassing_. And the answer’s fly.”

“Pah.” Villanelle dismisses both responses with wave of her hand. 

“We need to think about where we’re going next.” Eve bites back a sigh, because this is a conversation she’s been dreading. “Six down: a difficult journey. _Four_ letters.”

“Ummm... _ours_?” 

A cheeky smile follows and Eve can’t help but laugh.

“No, but good effort.”

Villanelle looks pleased with herself, and Eve turns her head to plant a little kiss on her cheek. It’s chaste and brief but, for the first time since the _I love you_ , Villanelle doesn’t freak out, so Eve marks it down as progress. 

“I know where we need to go.” Villanelle says then, with a little stretch of her back. 

“Where?”

“London.”

“ _London?!_ ” Eve exclaims back, because it doesn’t seem like the obvious choice. In fact it seems like the complete opposite of the obvious choice, being as it’s where they’re running from. “Why London?”

“I have money there.”

“I don’t know, it seems too risky.”

“It is risky, Eve. But we need the money, so.”

“Where is it?”

“Hmm?” Villanelle is clearly feigning ignorance now, and she turns her face towards Eve’s, nuzzling into her neck.

“Stop trying to distract me.”

“I’m not...”

“Villanelle. Where is it, the money?”

An annoyed huff.

“Hidden.”

Eve feels increasingly uneasy and lowers the crossword book.

“Hidden, _where?_ ”

“Some place very safe, where no one would ever think to look.”

“ _And_ _where is that?_ ”

Villanelle shifts awkwardly beneath her.

“Don’t freak out.”

“Oh, God...”

“It’s about six feet deep in your back garden. Your old one. Next to the chicken coop.”

Nothing on this Earth could have prepared Eve for that answer.

“WHAT?”

“I know, I know, but it seemed like a good place.”

“How could that _ever_ seem like a good place?!”

Villanelle shrugs.

“Easy to access, memorable. Those are pretty much my only requirements when I’m hiding money.”

“Pfff.” Eve exhales noisily. “We are not going back to my old house. Think again.”

“It’s a lot of money, Eve.”

“I don’t care! Think of something else.” A beat. “Wait, how _much_ money?”

“A lot. Like, 500,000.”

Eve’s jaw drops.

“You hid _half a million pounds_ in the ground, next to my old chicken coop?!”

“Yes?”

“And you’re only just mentioning this now?! You _ASSHOLE!_ ”

“Hey! Hey, stop hitting me!”

Eve smacks Villanelle’s chest and head rather ineffectually with her crossword book, while Villanelle shrinks back, half-heartedly blocking every few hits.

“You! You let me spend all that time in the woods _freaking out!_ Thinking I was going to _DIE!_ ”

Eve throws the crossword book to the side, lunging properly at Villanelle now and slapping her with her bare hands.

“OUCH! That HURTS!”

Villanelle grabs Eve’s wrists to restrain her, and they tussle rather pathetically for a few seconds, before Villanelle overbalances them and rolls Eve over, sending them both crashing onto the floor.

“OWWWWW!”

“FUCK!”

“GOD! I hate you!”

“No, you don’t.” Villanelle brushes off, rubbing her cheek. “You really clocked me with that book, I think I have a paper cut?”

Eve takes a few seconds to study Villanelle’s slightly red cheek.

“You’re fine. Stop being a baby.”

Villanelle grunts and then sighs out:

“Look, I couldn’t tell you about the money before, it wasn’t safe? Not with The Twelve right on our asses. And I knew if I told you, you’d just keep going on and on, _and_ ON, about it!”

“I would not?”

“Eve. We both know you would.”

Eve rolls her eyes, relenting a little.

“Fine. Maybe.”

“And I didn’t lie!” Villanelle declares with a righteous point of her finger. “I told you in the Premier Inn that I had money.”

“Yes, but I thought you meant in a _bank account?_ Like a _normal_ person.”

They both lock eyes.

“Like a normal person?” Villanelle laughs now, shaking her head. “Come on, Eve, you know me wayyy better than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're off to the Polastri residence then! Or former Polastri residence, anyway. 
> 
> That was a fun write, but I did get jammed up in the middle for a while - because I feel like Villanelle would push back at the L word, but not TOO much, you know? It was a bit of head fuckery though, for all concerned. Shame Eve didn't just talk to her the night of, but then she must have been on 0% battery by that point after the day she'd had. Anyway, hopefully it came off okay!
> 
> Ohhh, and a big debate about the amount of money Villanelle actually has went on in my head. Like, was £500,000 in cash a bit ridiculous? But if she can splash £5000+ just on some clothes for Eve (I may have been binging on season 1) she's got to be pretty loaded, hasn't she?!
> 
> Happy bank holiday weekend all!


	24. Tricky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blimey, this one was a bit of hard work for me, I'm not going to lie. I think it's just the combination of needing to shift through so many scenes, and yeah, but it's done and I'm... reasonably... happy with it.
> 
> It's passable.
> 
> I wrote some of it when I was awake at 4am, and I could really tell when I went back and edited it just now lol.
> 
> So, anyway, you can have it - because I'm not one for hanging about!
> 
> PS. Smarties are little coloured round chocolates/sweets/candy... I have no idea if they're just an English thing.

The platform at the train station is surprisingly busy for so late at night, and Eve finds herself overcome by a burgeoning sense of unease.

  
  


She’s not sure if it’s from the unexpected volume of people, or from the ever-present threat of The Twelve, or maybe it’s just that most people who catch a train at this time of night appear to be drunk, stoned, or of very questionable character. 

  
  


“You okay?” Villanelle asks, as though sensing her discomfort, and Eve grabs hold of the opportunity to loop their arms, leaning in closer to the creaky leather of Villanelle’s jacket.

  
  


“No. That toothless guy keeps smiling at me.”

  
  


“The toothless guy?” Villanelle frowns, scanning the crowd.

  
  


“Well, I think he has one or two teeth left. Three max.”

  
  


Villanelle nods.

  
  


“Want me to knock them out? Give him a clean sweep?”

  
  


Eve starts to laugh, but soon stops when she realises that Villanelle might actually be serious.

  
  


“Um, no, it’s fine. Thanks though.”

  
  


“Suit yourself.”

  
  


A few more minutes pass, and since there’s still no sign of the train, Eve says rather absentmindedly:

  
  


“I can’t believe you’re still wearing that dress.”

  
  


Villanelle takes a moment to look down at herself, using her free hand to flatten the billowing pink fabric, which keeps getting caught in a light breeze from the gaping train tunnels.

  
  


“I like it. It makes me feel like I am going to a party.”

  
  


Eve blinks at her.

  
  


“But you aren’t?”

  
  


“You are a very glass-half-empty sort of person, aren’t you, Eve?”

  
  


Mercifully, the train arrives not long after that, and they bundle on, stowing their stolen rucksacks in the overhead compartments.

  
  


“You’d better slide in first, or your dress is going to be overflowing into the aisle.” Eve says, as she points Villanelle towards the window seat.

  
  


Villanelle screws up her mouth, clearly unhappy with the suggestion.

  
  


“But I have long legs? I like the aisle seat.”

  
  


“Well, you should have thought about that before wearing that monstrosity.”

  
  


“Ugh.” Is all Villanelle says, as she reluctantly slides across the two seats, the excess material of her dress almost entirely covering Eve’s seat too, as well as obscuring part of the window.

  
  


They both spend a good few minutes tucking it in and pushing it down, before Eve can finally drop into the space beside her.

  
  


“God.” Eve mutters. “That dress is ridiculous. Are you not too hot under all that," she gestures at what must be at least ten layers of material, “stuff?!”

  
  


Villanelle smirks and then whispers in her ear:

  
  


“No, but that is probably because I am not wearing any underwear.”

  
  


Oh. Ohhh. Shit.

  
  


Eve swallows.

  
  


“You... you’re not?”

  
  


“Uh-uh.” Villenelle shakes her head, and then whispers in her ear again: “Have you ever fucked someone on a train before?”

  
  


Eve blurts out a loud, awkward laugh.

  
  


“No?! No I haven’t! And I’m not about to, so you can simmer down!”

  
  


Villanelle pouts.

  
  


“Why not? It’ll be fun. And it is a veryyy longgg journey - five whole hours!”

  
  


“It’s public transport, Villanelle. _Public_. I am not,” Eve lowers her voice, “having sex with you. Okay?”

  
  


“I would be very quiet.” Villenelle continues on regardless. “And we could make it quick.”

  
  


Eve snorts.

  
  


“Well, we **know** you’d be quick.”

  
  


Villanelle’s jaw drops.

  
  


“ _Eve!_ ” 

  
  


“Sorry.”

  
  


“No you’re not?! You’re still laughing about it?”

  
  


Eve suppresses her giggles and attempts to flatline her upturned mouth.

  
  


“I couldn’t resist... you know I don’t mean anything by it?”

  
  


Villanelle offers a grumpy sound in response, but ultimately can’t be too upset, as she follows it up with:

  
  


“I can’t help it if you excite me, Eve...”

  
  


“Right. That’s enough.” Eve swats her shoulder. “Stop it now.”

  
  


They both settle back in their seats and Eve fights off a yawn, the rhythmic lull of the train already taking effect. She lifts her tired gaze to Villanelle’s face, notes the wideness of her eyes and the tension in her jaw.

  
  


“Should we be worried?” Eve asks then. “About The Twelve?”

  
  


“Hmm? Oh, no. I don’t think so. We’ve been off grid for days. They won’t have a clue where we are.”

  
  


“Why do you look so tense then?”

  
  


Villanelle rolls her shoulders a little, eyes blinking and softening slightly.

  
  


“Habit, probably.” A shrug. “Change always makes me edgy.”

  
  


Eve nods and yawns again, her head pressing into Villanelle’s shoulder.

  
  


“Can I lean on you for a bit?”

  
  


“You can lean on me for five hours, Eve. I’m not going anywhere.”

  
  


Eve smiles, closing her eyes.

  
  


“Mm, that sounds nice.” 

  
  


****

  
  


Eve sleeps for the whole journey, her head nestled against Villanelle’s shoulder, and her warm breaths spilling evenly against her neck. Consequently, Villanelle doesn’t sleep, because even though The Twelve are unlikely to be lurking nearby, there are still plenty of other oddballs around and Villanelle isn’t about to have her rucksack of brand new clothes stolen.

  
  


She also feels ridiculously protective of Eve, as evidenced by the arm she’s slung around her shoulders. And of course she’s felt this before, this overwhelming need to protect her - even at the expense of herself - but she feels it so much more intensely now. Maybe because she’s simply allowing herself to. 

  
  


“We’re here.” Villanelle whispers, loathed to wake her. “Eve, come on.”

  
  


Eve stretches and snuggles even deeper into Villanelle’s side, uttering:

  
  


“Five more minutes.”

  
  


“No, not five more minutes, Eve. We need to go.” A pause, during which Eve still doesn’t move. “Listen, Eve, we _really_ need to go. You see, I spent most of our money on fruit and cheese for the picnic, and that meant I could only afford to get us one train ticket, so...”

  
  


“What?!” Eve is suddenly sitting bolt upright, her eyes about to pop out of her head. “Are you telling me we only have **one** ticket between us?! What are we going to do?!”

  
  


“Oh, it’ll be fine! Calm down.”

  
  


“Calm down?!” Eve is getting more hysterical now, looking around like she’s expecting someone to jump out and arrest them on the spot. “I can’t _believe_ you!”

  
  


“ _Look,_ you take the ticket and go through the gate like normal. Okay? Leave the rest to me.”

  
  


“Leave the rest to you?” Eve scoffs, raking her hand through her hair. “ _What does that even mean?!_ How are you going to get through?”

  
  


****

  
  


Eve nervously approaches the gate, her hand shaking as she scans her ticket at the barrier. She gets through without a hitch of course, the ticket scanner omitting a cheerful beep and turning green as the little gateway swings open to permit her entry to the other side.

  
  


And then she waits. She waits and waits for Villanelle to appear, her anxious eyes glancing occasionally at the big, burly security officer, as the crowds begin to thin out, until there’s noticeably less and less people coming through the doors.

  
  


Villanelle appears then, pausing just outside the entrance and catching Eve’s eye, flashing her a big, excited smile. And Eve can only watch in stunned awe, as Villanelle tips a bottle of water all over the floor, also dousing the bottom of her dress, before chucking the bottle off to the side, wrapping her hands around her suddenly, bulbous middle and shouting in a very high pitched, English accent:

  
  


“Oh my God! I think my water’s have just broken!”

  
  


And the security guard moves from his post at the speed of light, followed by a few other concerned citizens and train station employees, and suddenly they’re all swarming around her in a great commotion, so much so that Eve can barely make out the top of her blonde head.

  
  


“Oh! Oh, there she is!” Villanelle is saying now, and eight or so heads all turn to look over at Eve. “That’s my wife!”

  
  


Wife. Great. Eve inwardly sighs, because she should have known that she’d get dragged into this.

  
  


And then they’re all ushering Villanelle along, one of the members of staff using their pass to swipe her through the gate, while Villanelle stops every few steps to let out loud, cries of anguish.

  
  


It’s Oscar worthy really, and Eve has to admit that even the ridiculous dress has come into its own, because it does look somewhat comparable to maternity wear with the addition of a fake bump (which has presumably been formed by her leather jacket).

  
  


“Should we call an ambulance?!” The security guard asks Eve, looking panicked, as he somewhat awkwardly extends Villanelle into her waiting arms.

  
  


“No, I don’t think that’s necessary...” Eve mumbles, as Villanelle clings to her and yanks her hand onto her squishy bump, so that they’re now the picture of maternal bliss. “Err, first baby and all, could take days...”

  
  


“Maybe a taxi though?” Villanelle suggests, and then raises a hand to her chest in melodramatic realisation. “Oh no, have we got enough money for that, darling? Things have been such a stretch lately...”

  
  


And just like that, three commuters are pulling out their wallets and wafting cash in Eve’s direction.

  
  


“Please-“

  
  


“It’s the least we can do-“

  
  


“Just get her home safely-“

  
  


Eve tightens her grip on Villanelle, hoping to communicate ‘ _I’m going to kill you later_ ’, as she plasters a grateful smile across her face.

  
  


****

  
  


Villanelle feels smug. She feels smug as they walk - well, she waddles to keep up the pretence - out of the train station, and even smugger as they climb into the taxi.

  
  


She does not feel smug however when Eve climbs in next to her, slams the door shut and promptly smacks her on the arm.

  
  


“Ouch! You have been SO aggressive lately!”

  
  


“Yeah? Well that’s because you keep doing stupid things!” 

  
  


“That was not stupid, Eve. It was genius! No one even mentioned my ticket.”

  
  


Villanelle resumes her smugness, rubbing her fake bump.

  
  


“Stop doing that?! It’s freaking me out.”

  
  


“That’s not a very nice way to speak to your pregnant wife.” Villanelle admonishes curtly, giving a little nod towards their taxi driver. “What will Ahmed think?”

  
  


Ahmed glances up at them through his rear view mirror.

  
  


“My wife is pregnant too.” He says unexpectedly, his eyes drifting back to the road as he pulls away from the station. “I treat her like the princess that she is. You should do the same, your wife is very beautiful.”

  
  


Villanelle squeals with delight and claps her hands.

  
  


“Yes! Why thank you, Ahmed! Did you hear that, Eve? I’m a _beautiful princess_.”

  
  


“A beautiful asshole, more like.” Eve mutters.

  
  


“I’ll take that.” Villanelle shrugs back, her hand reaching out suddenly to clasp Eve’s. And a strange lull follows, as they both puzzle through this small and simple gesture, and the fact that it’s Villanelle who has initiated it.

  
  


“Are you going all soft on me?” Eve whispers with a curious smile, and a gentle, reassuring squeeze of Villanelle’s hand.

  
  


“Psh, no.” Villanelle replies, nestling her head back against the seat in casual indifference. “I’m just trying to counteract your new aggressive streak.”

  
  


“Yeah, yeah,” Eve smiles wider, “you keep telling yourself that.”

  
  


****

  
  


The snag in their plan comes when they arrive in Ealing at ten thirty in the morning, with nothing to do except trail around the streets, waiting for dark. They mostly window shop, and Villanelle manages to scrape together enough change to buy Eve a coffee, and a little gingerbread man for them to share.

  
  


They end up sitting on a bench in small park, only ten minutes from Eve’s old house, and Eve watches as Villanelle walks the little gingerbread man up and down in mid-air, occasionally stabbing him in the chest with her finger.

  
  


“Please don’t kill me!” Villanelle says in a tiny voice, bringing the little gingerbread man closer to Eve and tilting him towards her. “Do you want to eat his head?” She asks, deadpan.

  
  


“Err, no... that’s okay. I’ll just have his legs or something.”

  
  


“You sure? The head is the best part. He has little Smarties for his eyes.” She switches back to the tiny gingerbread man voice, tilting him this way and that. “Do you want to eat my eyes, Eve?”

  
  


“You are so, so strange.”

  
  


“I’m bored!”

  
  


“Yeah, well.” Eve sips her coffee. “You need to learn to be more patient.”

  
  


“Ohhhh, now you sound like Konstantin!” And suddenly the little gingerbread man becomes Konstantin, stomping up and down the skyline. “Be more patient, Villanelle! You are so reckless, Villanelle! Promise you won’t be naughty, Villanelle!”

  
  


“Are you going to be like this all afternoon? Can’t you just - I don’t know - run a few laps of the park or something? Let off some steam.”

  
  


“I am not a dog, Eve. And I can’t run in this dress.”

  
  


Oh, the dress. Eve commiserates it all over again.

  
  


“I doubt you can dig a ten foot hole in it, either.”

  
  


“That sounds a little bit like a challenge...”

  
  


“It is definitely _not_ a challenge.”

  
  


“Tsk, you’re being very boring.” Villanelle kicks her feet and nibbles at the gingerbread man’s shoulder. “Want to go and play on the swings?”

  
  


“Jesus...”

  
  


****

  
  


They let themselves in via the back gate. Yes, it really is that easy.

  
  


“Nice to see the new occupants are just as hot on security as you were.”

  
  


“Shut up.”

  
  


The house itself is dark and quiet, and it appears - as you’d expect from the outside - largely unchanged. Villanelle sees Eve hesitate for a moment, probably taking in the familiar sash window and the large, double glass doors that offer generous views inside the interior of her old home. 

  
  


And Villanelle knows this all too well of course, because she’s spent a reasonable amount of time out here herself, peeking in. Not that she’s about to tell Eve that - because some things, like having a penchant for a bit of minor stalking - are definitely best left unsaid.

  
  


“Right then.” Villanelle mutters, as she grabs the shovel that still leans predictably against the chicken coop. “Let’s get this over with.”

  
  


The ground is firmer than she remembers, but then she admits she is probably a tiny bit out of shape, and the autumn temperatures have likely made the soil colder, and therefore a lot less compliant than when she originally dug up this same spot last summer. 

  
  


She gets about three feet down, and is massively regretting her outfit choice as sweat pours off of her, when Eve very astutely remarks:

  
  


“That looks a little tricky.”

  
  


_A little tricky_.

  
  


Villanelle leans heavily against the shovel, wiping her forehead.

  
  


“Eve, I am literally breaking my back here?”

  
  


“Sorry.” Eve mumbles, clearly trying to redeem herself by saying: “You look hot though, all dirty and sweaty like that.” She pauses again, looking Villanelle up and down, before adding: “I mean, especially since I know you haven’t got any underwear on under that dre-“

  
  


“Alright. Don’t overdo it. Geez.”

  
  


Villanelle resumes digging, feeling slightly reinvigorated now she knows that Eve is watching her and enjoying the performance.

  
  


She’s also relieved to find that the further down she goes, the easier it gets, with the last few feet seeming to almost lift out like air, before finally revealing the familiar, dark blue fabric of her hidden duffel bag.

  
  


“Got it.” Villanelle grins, heaving it out of the ground and chucking it towards Eve. “I _told you_ I could dig a ten foot hole in this dress!”

  
  


“Can I?” Eve asks immediately, her hands hovering above the bag.

  
  


“Sure, go for it.”

  
  


Eve unzips it, a small gasp falling from her lips.

  
  


“Wow.” She says dreamily. “So that’s what half a million pounds looks like.”

  
  


Villanelle clears her throat.

  
  


“It’s not actually...”

  
  


“What do you mean _it’s not?”_

  
  


“That’s only half of it.”

  
  


“What do you mean _half of it?”_

  
  


“Well, you can’t hide half a million pounds all in one place, Eve. That would just be stupid! What if someone else finds it first?”

  
  


Eve sighs heavily.

  
  


“I’m not going to like what’s coming next, am I?”

  
  


“Probably not.”

  
  


“Come on, where’s the rest of it then?”

  
  


Villanelle rubs the back of her neck, before reluctantly nodding towards the house.

  
  


“In the front room... under the floorboards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooohhhhhh are they going inside?? Answers on a postcard, or you know, just in the comments haha.
> 
> So, I apologise that some of the parts were shorter, but I think it was necessary. I actually rewrote the last bit a little, as initially I did change Villanelle out of her dress... but then I was like nah. She'd totally dig a big fuck off hole in a designer dress to prove a point.
> 
> You will be relieved to hear I do have a vague idea of the next part, but I would love to hear your thoughts on where they should go / what they should do with their new found wealth (be that 250k or 500k). So please share if you feel so inclined!
> 
> As always thank you for your awesome replies <3


	25. The Polastri House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, so do not get used to the ridiculous speed at which these are being posted. This is not likely to continue because I do actually have to work and things later this week lol.
> 
> But for now, enjoy it! I just love sharing the next part with you and I love reading your comments, which are just amazing by the way.

They have a big debate about whether to break into the house. Eve maintains that £250,000 is plenty of money to walk away with, but Villanelle won’t have any of it, insisting that it’s her money and she hasn’t come all this way to leave half of it behind.

  
  


So, they break in.

  
  


And there’s something very, very strange about breaking into a house you once owned. Like, maybe it’s not really breaking in, it’s just... revisiting? Yes, Eve much prefers to think of it as _revisiting_ , as Villanelle expertly picks the lock on the patio doors and then slides them open.

  
  


“Shoes.” Eve whispers, as soon as they step inside. 

  
  


Villanelle turns to give her an incredulous look.

  
  


“It’s not even your house anymore? Are you serious?”

  
  


“Yes.” Eve repeats plainly. “Shoes.”

  
  


“Ugh, fine.” 

  
  


They both take their shoes off, leaving them neatly beside the door as they slowly make their way down the hallway.

  
  


“When did you find time to hide all this money, anyway? And what were you even doing inside my house?”

  
  


Villanelle chuckles softly.

  
  


“Ohh, I had time to do a lot of things inside your house, Eve.”

  
  


Villanelle’s mirth is cut short by a sudden and quite loud crunching sound, which is followed by a small, panicked whimper.

  
  


“Eve... Eve! _My_ _foot!_ There’s... there’s something... _wet_...”

  
  


Another whimper, and then Villanelle starts to silently gag. 

  
  


“ _I don’t like it, Eve!_ ”

  
  


Eve quickly closes the distance between them and crouches down, inspecting the immediate area for the cause of Villanelle’s distress.

  
  


“Oh.” Eve says matter of factly. “Drumstick.”

  
  


“Drumstick?” Villanelle repeats back, holding her dripping foot up rather pathetically. 

  
  


“The chicken. You stood on one of her eggs.”

  
  


Villanelle gags again.

  
  


“That is so gross, Eve! And your chicken still _lives_ here? What the hell?!”

  
  


As though on cue the animal in question comes strutting out of the lounge, stops dead in the middle of the hallway and stares at them.

  
  


“Hi Drumstick.” Eve greets flatly. “Yeah, we sort of sold her with the house. Like a bundle? Buy a house, get a free chicken.”

  
  


Villanelle looks appalled.

  
  


“Eve! That is terrible?” 

  
  


“Well yeah, I mean, I don’t feel great about it...”

  
  


Villanelle shakes the yolk and egg white off her foot and then takes a few sticky steps towards Drumstick.

  
  


“You poooor thing, did you get abandoned, hmm?”

  
  


“Don’t talk to her like that? She’s a _chicken_.”

  
  


“Birds are very intelligent animals, Eve. You are very clever, aren’t you, Drumstick?”

  
  


Drumstick blinks at them with two seemingly uncoordinated eyes.

  
  


“I can assure you, she is not. Now will you leave her alone? We have a perfectly good floor to go and dig up, thanks to you.”

  
  


Villanelle dissolves into an increasingly familiar looking pout.

  
  


“I want to take her with us.”

  
  


“ _ **No.**_ ”

  
  


“Why not?”

  
  


“So many reasons.” Eve hisses back, gesturing to the ceiling. “What about her new owners, hmm? Just think how upset they’ll be when they wake up and find her gone.”

  
  


“You don’t know that, Eve. You don’t even know if Drumstick likes them.”

  
  


“I’m going to say this one more time - she’s a chicken, Villanelle! A chicken.”

  
  


Villanelle inhales sharply.

  
  


“She’s an _orphan_ , like me.”

  
  


“Oh God... really? You’re going to go there with this?”

  
  


“You said about rescuing an animal. I want to rescue Drumstick!”

  
  


Eve takes several deep breaths and repeats to herself: breathe in for two, breathe out for four...

  
  


“ _Drumstick does not need rescuing_. And anyway, you have absolutely no idea of how to take care of a chicken.”

  
  


Villanelle folds her arms.

  
  


“I grew up on a farm in Russia, Eve. I know plenty about chickens.”

  
  


“Fine! You know what, if you want her so bad, take her.”

  
  


Villanelle falters, looking surprised.

  
  


“Really?”

  
  


“Yes, I don’t care. But if you take her out of this house, she belongs to **you** , understand?”

  
  


“That sounds like a lot of responsibility...”

  
  


“Yes.”

  
  


“I’m not very good at keeping things alive, Eve. Quite the opposite actually...”

  
  


Eve softens, seeing Villanelle’s sudden loss of confidence in her ability to care for another living thing.

  
  


“Well, look, how about we leave Drumstick here, in the house she knows and loves? And then we’ll think about getting you another animal to take care of once we’re settled. Something small, and hard to kill.”

  
  


“Like a rabbit?” Villanelle asks eagerly.

  
  


“Eh... I was thinking more like a fish.”

  
  


“Hmm. You can’t do much with a fish, Eve?”

  
  


“No... that’s sort of the point. It’s nice and safe, just swimming around in it’s little bowl...”

  
  


A shrug.

  
  


“I suppose a fish would be okay.”

  
  


****

  
  


“Ooooohhhh...” Villanelle exclaims under her breath as she circles the kitchen counters. “Sooo many memories.”

  
  


“Tell me about it.” Eve responds, as she looks around the living space, clicking on the low-level light of one of her old lamps. “They haven’t even bought new furniture, or decorated. That’s a bit weird, right?”

  
  


Villanelle wrinkles her nose in distaste.

  
  


“It certainly does not say much about them as a couple.” Villanelle leans in to examine a photograph of the new homeowners, which has been magnetised to the fridge. She stabs their smiling faces with an accusing finger. “You are sooo unimaginative.” She tells them. “I bet you have terrible sex.”

  
  


“Will you stop messing about so we can get out of here?”

  
  


“Alright, alright. I just need a drink first, digging is hard work you know.” Villanelle says as she swings open the fridge door. “Ugh. I think they’re vegans.” She pulls another face as she lifts out a carton. “Plant milk.”

  
  


“Will you stop snooping?”

  
  


“Why would vegans buy a house with a chicken...”

  
  


“Right. Can you _please_ focus?!”

  
  


“What do you think they do with all her eggs?”

  
  


“Jesus Christ, Villanelle!”

  
  


“What? These are serious questions?!”

  
  


“You can save your _serious questions_ for later, when we aren’t breaking and entering!”

  
  


“You’re very touchy tonight, Eve?”

  
  


Villanelle unscrews the lid of the plant milk, takes a long swig, and then shudders.

  
  


“ _So gross_.”

  
  


“Are you done now?” Eve sighs, making her way over to the living room floor. “Which floorboard is it? And how do we lift it up?”

  
  


“Crowbar worked well last time. It’s in the duffel bag, I’ll get it.”

  
  


“You took a _crowbar_ to my floor...”

  
  


“I was veryyy careful.”

  
  


“What _else_ did you do?”

  
  


“Nothing major... _definitely_ nothing with your toothbrush.”

  
  


“Oh, God...”

  
  


Villanelle grins as she unzips the duffel bag they’ve momentarily discarded in the corner, sticks her hand in, rummages about a bit, and eventually withdraws the crowbar in question.

  
  


Eve watches as she slings it across her shoulder and starts to walk up and down the floorboards in front of the sofa, mumbling to herself.

  
  


Eve drags the palm of her hand down her face in grave realisation.

  
  


“You don’t remember which floorboard it is, do you.” 

  
  


“Of course I do! I have an _amazing_ memory!” 

  
  


Twelve floorboards later, and they’re still looking.

  
  


“Maybe it was over there?” Villanelle points further towards the window, looking thoughtful. “It was definitely in this general area.”

  
  


“I mean... there’ll be no floor left soon?”

  
  


“You’re tiny, maybe you should just climb down that little gap and take a look?”

  
  


“I’m _not_ crawling about under the floorboards! No way.”

  
  


“Hmm.” Villanelle sighs heavily. “Got a flashlight?”

  
  


“Don’t we still have one in your rucksack? From camping.”

  
  


“Ah... I may have taken out a few nonessential things to make room for my new clothes...”

  
  


Eve rolls her eyes, standing up.

  
  


“There used to be one under the sink, I’ll go look.”

  
  


“I’m sure it’ll still be there, it’s not like they’ve bothered to move anything else.” Villanelle looks up at the wall and frowns. “Not even these **really** ugly paintings.”

  
  


“Hey! I picked those.”

  
  


“Eve, they’re just brown spread on more brown? So ugly. What were you thinking?”

  
  


Eve, who is now shoulder deep in the cupboard under the sink, groans.

  
  


“Can we not critique my horrible art choices right now?”

  
  


“So you admit they’re horrible then? That’s progress. There is hope for you yet.”

****

  
  


With the help of the flashlight they eventually find the second duffel bag, about two boards over from where they originally started.

  
  


“See, I _knew_ it was around there somewhere.” Villanelle says proudly.

  
  


“Oh yes.” Eve gestures to the massacre of missing floorboards in front of them. “Clearly...”

  
  


“So, now we have half a million in our hands, want to celebrate?” Villanelle gives a wiggle of her eyebrows.

  
  


“Errrr...”

  
  


Villanelle jumps to her feet and strolls purposefully towards the dining table, running her hand along the smooth wood grain.

  
  


“ _A lot_ of our history has taken place around this table, Eve.”

  
  


“Mm, yes. Like the time I tried to stab you with a vegetable knife, and you tried to poison me, you mean?”

  
  


Villanelle laughs softly, her eyes glinting.

  
  


“It was only _pretend_ poison...”

  
  


“Yes, but you didn’t tell me that until _after_ I’d swallowed it.”

  
  


“I was very impressed when you did that.” Villanelle confides now, biting her lower lip. “It excited me.”

  
  


Eve looks the picture of anxiety, her brown eyes rounding and her delicate hands reaching up to tuck clusters of stray curls behind her ears.

  
  


“I want us to have sex on this table.” Villanelle announces, direct as ever.

  
  


Eve doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move now, completely frozen in time, and Villanelle tilts her head.

  
  


“I want to make you come on this table, Eve. Did you hear me?”

  
  


“Yes.” She finally croaks out. “I heard you. And I want to, God, I do want to...”

  
  


“But...”

  
  


Eve approaches her now, bringing her hand to her face, and the familiarity of this whole scene sends a chill down Villanelle’s spine.

  
  


“But not here. Okay?“

  
  


“Why not?” Villanelle does her very best not to pout, but it’s sort of her default reaction when she doesn’t get her own way, and she really, really wants to get her own way right now.

  
  


Eve, in turn, looks like she’s trying to choose her words very carefully.

  
  


“Because this is my old house... my _old house_ that I lived in with my _ex-husband_. Get it?”

  
  


Villanelle shakes her head, because she doesn’t really. It’s just a house, bricks and mortar, and Niko doesn’t live here anymore, so she really can’t see the problem with having sex on the dinner table.

  
  


“Okay, so, I have a lot of memories of you and me here, right?”

  
  


“Yes.” Villanelle nods happily.

  
  


“But I also have a lot of memories of me and Niko...”

  
  


“Ah...” Villanelle breathes out, realisation slowly dawning.

  
  


“Really mundane things, like eating breakfast with him, at this table. So, you can see why I might want sex with you to be somewhere different, right?”

  
  


“Did he get cereal in his moustache a lot? I bet he did.” 

  
  


“Villanelle...” Eve presses her hand a little tighter to her cheek. “Don’t do that.”

  
  


A frown.

  
  


“Do what?”

  
  


“Change the subject... or make light of it with one of your jokes... or, whatever it is that you do when you feel disappointed. It’s okay to just be disappointed sometimes.”

  
  


“Hmm.” Villanelle considers, looking over her shoulder at the table longingly again. 

  
  


And Eve’s right, she _does_ feel disappointed... but she _also_ feels like she wants at least one of them to have an orgasm on that table before they leave here tonight.

  
  


“Well, if _**we**_ can’t have sex on it. Can _**I**_ _?_ ”

  
  


“... what.”

  
  


“Can I masturbate on the table, Eve?”

  
  


“Uhm...”

  
  


“You can watch, if you like?”

  
  


****

  
  


Eve has to pinch herself to check she’s not dreaming.

  
  


She’s not. 

  
  


This is actually happening. 

  
  


Villanelle is flat on her back on the kitchen table, engulfed by far too much pink tulle, with one hand between her legs.

  
  


Only Eve can’t see her hand, or much of anything really, because of the dress.

  
  


That _bloody_ dress.

  
  


“Your dress.” Eve manages to squeak out, and Villanelle immediately stills. “I, I can’t... would you...”

  
  


“I’m happy to take requests, Eve, but you need to ask me _properly_. And _nicely_.”

  
  


Eve nods rapidly. 

  
  


“Take it off?” A beat, in which Villanelle raises a dissatisfied eyebrow. “Please?” A shake of Villanelle’s head has Eve trying again, drawing a deep, stabilising breath this time. “Will you take your dress off, _please_ , Villanelle?”

  
  


“Okay.” She agrees simply, suddenly sitting upright and tipping her head towards her shoulder. “Could you?”

  
  


Eve isn’t sure what Villanelle is asking her to do, but she’s pretty sure the answer is no, because she probably couldn’t tie her own shoe laces right now.

  
  


“Uhh, what?”

  
  


“The zip, Eve. Can you undo it?”

  
  


Eve nods mutely, still not fully convinced that she has anywhere near the fine motor skills required, but deciding that trying is definitely the better option than confessing.

  
  


Yeah, her brain kicks in, imagine saying: sorry Villanelle, but I’m so ridiculously turned on right now that I can’t even remember what a zip is, let alone how it works.

  
  


And then she decides that Villanelle would probably love to hear that, actually.

  
  


So Eve blurts it out, despite her earlier reservations. Only it doesn’t sound quite the same as it did in her head, it goes a lot more like:

  
  


“No. This, _you_... **you are so** **hot**. I, I can’t... zip.”

  
  


Villanelle chokes on her own inhalation, her hazel eyes swirling into Eve’s.

  
  


“ _You can’t_ _ **zip**_ _?!_ Okay...” She says with mild amusement, as she smoothly reaches around her own back and struggles only momentarily with the clasp.

  
  


It gives easily, and the delightful, rounded sound of it whizzing open fills the room.

  
  


Villanelle stands for a moment, the dress pooling at her feet before she hops back onto the table. 

  
  


“You have underwear on!” Eve exclaims, unreasonably outraged by this discovery.

  
  


Villanelle shushes her.

  
  


“Eve, be quiet, you’ll wake the vegans!”

  
  


The vegans, right.

  
  


“Sorry.” Eve whispers back, pressing herself against the fridge as Villanelle lies herself back down.

  
  


“I couldn’t _really_ wear no underwear on public transport, Eve...” She sighs out, her hand drawing lazy patterns over her unbelievably toned stomach. “Do you like it though? It was _very_ expensive.”

  
  


Eve presumes it’s probably been stolen along with the dress in that case, but she frankly does not care. It would be a crime for Villanelle _not_ to steal this underwear, this lacy, black... incredibly sexy... underwear.

  
  


“Still _can’t_ , huh?” Villanelle answers for her, when Eve is still wordless almost a full minute later. 

  
  


“Can’t... anything.” Eve confirms, as Villanelle’s hand slides suddenly lower, pushing the black lace well to the side. “Oh... _God_...”

  
  


As expected - Villanelle is clearly well versed at this, and also not in the slightest bit embarrassed or shy. Eve wants to fall at her feet and worship her as she watches the slides and pulls, and the teasing of her fingers. She finds herself mesmerised by the slanting of her hips and the slight arch of her back, as she searches herself for more contact, or perhaps just to find that illusive _right spot_.

  
  


And when she finds it, whichever of the two it is, Villanelle is vocal, panting and moaning, and she sounds so slippery wet, fingers moving so fast now that Eve is at a loss as to their exact location. And when she comes it’s like a lightening strike and a power cut all at once, hands freeze as her body straightens and curls in all different places, and her head tips back, all awareness of this time and place, completely lost...

  
  


“Fuck...” Villanelle says, as she comes back to herself, now quite literally splayed across Eve’s former table, the table that will never, ever remind Eve of breakfast with Niko ever again.

  
  


“That was...” Eve whispers out. “Wow.”

  
  


“Yeah.” Villanelle agrees, as she cautiously sits up, her legs swinging slightly as they dangle over the table edge.

  
  


Finally, Eve allows herself to push away from the security of the fridge, slowly approaching Villanelle’s hot and breathy form, taking in the slight sway of her head and torso, as she continues to fight for reorientation.

  
  


They share a deep, needy kiss, the kind that portrays everything and nothing all at the same time; the kind that is raw and primal, but still profoundly connecting, a potentially fatal mixture of lust and love. 

  
  


"So..." Eve breathes, as she reluctantly pulls back. "Hotel?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Girls, girls, girls... !
> 
> Well, that went well for them, didn't it?
> 
> Hope you're all here for a bit of filth here and there, I assume you are?? I have no idea if my ratings on this thing are right, I literally guessed (I think I said mature). I don't write really dirty-dirty stuff so... oh the more I say the worse this is sounding... I'm just going to shut up.
> 
> Drumstick the chicken was suggested by a lovely reader who suffered terribly through the sick Villanelle parts - I hope this redeemed the fic for you! Although I appreciate there was the gross egg foot part... hm. I'm SO sorry. I can't help the things that come into my head.
> 
> UMMMM... I think that's it... I do need some time to plot the next part now. But I'll hopefully catch you all soon.
> 
> P.S. No offence to the vegans. Love you all. I drink soya milk.


	26. Rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Sorry for the delay. I just found this part really hard to get going - it's actually had three rewrites!!! I'm not sure if that means the quality / content will be less pleasing for you all, and I can only apologise if it is.
> 
> But it's here, ready to be read.
> 
> Just a quick extra word - you may not want to read at work...

The hotel is like something out of a movie, or a fairytale, or basically anything that is not Eve’s life. Because Eve’s life is spending £350 on a weekend break and still wishing it were a little cheaper; Eve’s life is **not** a penthouse suite that costs in excess of £2000 a night, with its own private terrace, walk-in wardrobe, king sized bed and a Steinway piano.

  
  


_A freaking Steinway piano._

  
  


Eve presses one of the piano keys out of pure curiosity, and finds herself shocked by the sound. It’s loud and clear, and it seems to ring out, momentarily filling the entire room.

  
  


She shuts the lid, feeling a little embarrassed to be making such a racket at almost three o’clock in the morning. But then she supposes that when you’re paying to stay in a suite like this, you can probably play the Steinway at any hour of your choosing.

  
  


If you can play it, that is. Which Eve regrettably cannot.

  
  


“Are you going to play something nice for me, Eve?” Villenelle asks, as she suddenly emerges from the bathroom, fresh out of the shower and smelling absolutely heavenly. 

  
  


Eve lets herself get lost in the mere existence of her for a moment, completely taken by how relaxed she looks amongst such an absurd amount of luxury. But then of course Villanelle would look right at home in one of the most expensive hotels in central London.

  
  


“No, definitely not.” Eve says quickly, before fixing Villanelle with a curious and quizzical look. “Can _you_ play?”

  
  


“Eh, a little.”

  
  


Eve tries to resist the temptation to roll her eyes, but the response is just so vague and so typically Villanelle she can’t help it.

  
  


“I’d like to hear you?”

  
  


“It is a bit late to play, Eve.” Villanelle replies briskly, as she pulls a few decorative pillows from the bed and draws back the covers, obviously preparing to imminently climb in. 

  
  


“Just one song? Please?” Eve interjects, and Villanelle hesitates, groaning wearily.

  
  


“I’m tired, Eve. Manual labour and masturbation are a really exhausting combination, as it turns out.”

  
  


“I know, and I’m tired too, but-“

  
  


“You’re tired too?” Villanelle laughs loudly to herself. “Sorry, I must have missed the part where you dug a ten foot hole, and crowbarred up half the floor.”

  
  


“Stop being a dick? You’re always a dick when you’re tired.”

  
  


“So let me sleep then?! And tomorrow I’ll be a happy, piano playing, not-dick. Okay?”

  
  


Eve reluctantly approaches, shoulders dropping.

  
  


“Ughh, but you know what my brain’s like? If you don’t play tonight I won’t be able to sleep? I’ll be awake _all night_ thinking about it and wondering...”

  
  


“Emotional blackmail, Eve? Really?”

  
  


“No, of course not!” Eve protests defensively, and then adds: “It’s just the truth.”

  
  


They stare at each other for several seconds, Villanelle with one leg snaking its way into the bed, and Eve standing at the foot of it, arms folded.

  
  


“For fucks sake, fine!”

  
  


Eve watches with great satisfaction as Villanelle pushes away from the mattress and stomps across the room towards the piano, throwing open its lid. 

  
  


“I’m not even any good.” She mutters, but Eve shushes her, keenly watching as she positions herself on the stool: back straight, arms relaxed and wrists slightly bent.

  
  


And she looks beautiful, of course she does, poised and elegant, wrapped in nothing but a fluffy hotel robe.

  
  


So beautiful, Eve almost tells her not to even bother playing, because just seeing her sat like that is more than enough.

  
  


But then Eve sees her fingers flutter slightly, as they prepare to strike the keys, and her unabating curiosity flutters right along with them.

  
  


Villanelle hits the first note, and then the second, her hands dropping so that she’s using just the index finger on her right hand to stab out...

  
  


Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star.

  
  


Eve narrows her eyes, and waits for her to finish.

  
  


“There you go.” Villanelle says with a smirk, as she stands back up. “One song. Goodnight, Eve, sweet dreams.”

  
  


“Bullshit! Sit back down!”

  
  


“What?! You asked for one song, and I played you one song! I told you I wasn’t any good.”

  
  


Eve teeters uncertainly for a moment, feeling a whirlwind of irritation and confusion start up inside of her. 

  
  


“I know you can play better than that.” Eve insists finally, and Villanelle just grins some more.

  
  


“No you don’t. You have never heard me play, so how can you know if I can play better or not?”

  
  


“Because I just know!” Is Eve’s very lame answer, and Villanelle giggles with utter delight.

  
  


“You get so wound up about such silly things sometimes, Eve.”

  
  


And with that, Villanelle trails her way back towards the bed, yawning quite spectacularly as she goes and discarding the fluffy dressing gown at her feet.

  
  


“You’re such an asshole.” Eve grumbles, as she somewhat resentfully climbs into the bed beside her. “And you really ought to invest in some pyjamas you know, now that you’re a half-millionaire.”

  
  


Villanelle grunts and waves a tired and blasé hand in response, her soft breathing giving way to rolling snores mere seconds later.

  
  


“Unbelievable...” Eve murmurs.

  
  


****

  
  


They have breakfast on the terrace, and it’s pretty much perfect.

  
  


There’s just enough October sun streaming down to detract from the slightly chilly Autumn breeze, and Villanelle is left feeling full and happy, having just eaten her way through a stack of pancakes, heavily doused in maple syrup. 

  
  


She licks her fingers and tips her head back, soaking up the sunshine’s rays.

  
  


“You look relaxed.” Eve observes, as she walks the length of the terrace again. 

  
  


Eve on the other hand is not relaxed, because she drank three cups of Hacienda El Roble coffee on an empty stomach.

  
  


“How’s that caffeine high working out for you?” Villanelle smirks, watching lazily as Eve laps the terrace again.

  
  


“Fine! I told you, caffeine doesn’t even touch me. I’m invincible or infallible, or... in-something-ible.”

  
  


“Uh-huh...” Villanelle stretches and sits up enough to take in the skyline, her eyes settling on the London Eye. “I want to go on that Eye thing.”

  
  


“No, no, absolutely not.” Eve shakes her head emphatically, circling the table now, her feet picking up pace.

  
  


“Why not?”

  
  


“You do remember we’re being hunted down by The Twelve, don’t you? And that living it up in the centre of London is therefore a very stupid idea? In fact just being in this hotel, is a very stupid idea.”

  
  


“Or a very smart idea.” Villanelle counters. “Because they won’t expect us to be this stupid.”

  
  


“I’m pretty sure it’s just very, very, _very_ stupid.”

  
  


“Mm, I do not think that you are in any sort of place to judge stupid ideas right now.”

  
  


“Shut up.”

  
  


“Will you stop going around and around like that? You’re making me dizzy.”

  
  


“Don’t watch me then?” Eve snaps back, and then looks a little reproachful when she says: “I just feel a _teensy_ bit jittery, okay?”

  
  


“Really? A teensy bit? I hadn’t noticed.”

  
  


“I think... I think maybe I’ve overdosed and I’m going to die.”

  
  


“Don’t be stupid! You just need to sweat it out, or something? They have a sauna we can use.”

  
  


“I’m already sweating, Villanelle! And my heart is absolutely pounding.” Eve holds her hands out. “Look, do you see that? I’m shaking.”

  
  


“You’re freaking yourself out is what you’re doing, calm down?”

  
  


“You’d be freaking out too!”

  
  


Villanelle stands up now, not quite sure what that’s going to achieve, but it feels proactive. Like she’s at least trying to do something about Eve’s coffee crisis.

  
  


“Stand still, alright? All that running in circles is probably making it worse.”

  
  


“I can’t stand still! If I stand still I feel like my skin’s crawling!”

  
  


Villanelle watches as Eve jiggles about on the spot, side stepping intermittently.

  
  


So Villanelle, who has very little experience with calming anybody down, does the only thing she can think to do - she pulls Eve towards her and kisses her.

  
  


It’s a single, long, steady kiss, where their lips lock into each other’s and neither of them really moves. Eve’s hands dangle quite literally at her sides, while Villanelle cradles her back and waist, feeling the overstimulated twitch of her muscles beneath the soft wool of her sweater.

  
  


They break then for air and Eve immediately starts to fidget again, her brown eyes dancing around wildly and skimming over Villanelle’s face.

  
  


“So, my heart rate is even faster now, thanks for that.”

  
  


Villanelle makes an ‘oops’ face.

  
  


“And you taste like pancakes.” Eve rambles on. “Really, really sweet pancakes.”

  
  


“I used _a lot_ of maple syrup.”

  
  


They stare at each other, Eve still shifting restlessly, her hands knotting in her sweater sleeves, and Villanelle biting her lip uncertainly.

  
  


“Just relax, Eve? It’ll pass soon.”

  
  


“I’m trying? It’s not like I’m not trying? But I’m having actual palpitations here.”

  
  


Villanelle watches her tiny frame jump involuntarily a few more times.

  
  


“Come here.” She eventually mutters, enveloping Eve in her arms, and she knows right then and there that she’s just screwed herself over royally, because she’s _hugging_ Eve. She’s actually holding her against her, feeling her fast heart thud against her chest, and it feels so good. 

  
  


_Good_.

  
  


Who is she trying to kid? It feels so much better than good. It fills her up inside with this funny warm feeling, that spreads from her chest all the way down her arms and legs, right to the tips of her fingers and toes, and it makes her head go all giddy, and it makes her want to _**smile**_. 

  
  


Fuck.

  
  


And now she wants to push Eve away, or to push her off the edge of the terrace if she has to, to make it stop. This crazy, scary, wonderful feeling.

  
  


But Eve, still caffeinated up to the hilt, is trembling against her, her head nuzzling under her chin and tickling her with those crazy curls. And she knows she couldn’t push her away even if she tried.

  
  


So, she steels herself, and forces her body to do the opposite of what it’s been programmed to do, pulling Eve in even closer than she’d think physically possible. 

  
  


“Better?” Villanelle asks, her voice betraying her with a slight crack.

  
  


“Yeah, I think this is better.” Eve nods, tightening her grip also, her hands fisting the material at the back of Villanelle’s shirt. “Thanks.”

  
  


Villanelle swallows, and wonders how long it takes for someone to come down from a hit like this - and then she’s not really sure if she’s referring to herself or to Eve anymore, because she thinks maybe she could be referring to them both.

  
  


“Hey.” Eve looks up at her suddenly, all long lashes and big eyes. “Now your heart is beating really fast too?”

  
  


“Sugar rush.” Villanelle lies.

  
  


_Eve rush_ , she thinks - and in that moment, she knows exactly what she needs to do about it.

  
  


****

  
  


Something feels _different_.

  
  


Something feels _so very different_.

  
  


Eve can’t stop this thought as it runs around and around inside of her head. 

  
  


She’s soaking in the bath, and she’s supposed to be relaxing whilst she waits for the last, lingering buzz of caffeine to leave her system. But she can’t.

  
  


It’s taken nearly two hours to feel somewhat normal again. At least twenty five minutes of which were spent on the terrace, surrounded by Villanelle’s arms, feeling like her body was going to jackhammer through the floor if Villanelle had let go. 

  
  


But Villanelle hadn’t let go. Villanelle held her until the tremors had eased, until her heart felt a little less like it might thrash too hard and burst out of her chest. And at first it was just a hold, but then Villanelle had stroked her hair and rubbed her back, and it was... 

  
  


Caring, and gentle and kind - and maybe, a bit _loving?_ Maybe.

  
  


Eve had certainly felt a little bit loved, all wrapped up and safe in Villanelle’s arms. 

  
  


But she knows Villanelle would probably vehemently disagree that she’s capable of communicating such things. Would probably swear blind that it was just an act born of necessity, to keep Eve calm, and to stop her from completely losing her mind and spoiling a perfectly good breakfast.

  
  


Eve can really imagine her saying that actually - the asshole.

  
  


But it had also been Villanelle’s suggestion that she take a bath - or a long, hot soak as she had put it - to properly unwind and recover from three cups too many of Hacienda El Roble (side note: _never again_ ).

  
  


And it was that, and the hug, and the caring, and the maybe-loving, that had sparked this thought in the first place.

  
  


The thought that something seems different, so very different, about Villanelle.

  
  


Eve sighs to herself as she pulls the plug from the bath, spares a moment to listen to the pleasant glug of water as it starts to drain away, before finally climbing out and grabbing one of the insanely soft towels.

  
  


Eve wraps it around herself, taking a brief pause to check herself over in the mirror, scrunching her face slightly at what she sees - flushed skin and a few too many worry lines, mainly - when she hears it.

  
  


The melodic, ripple of keys and the harmonious thrum of chords, and Eve is flying out of the bathroom in seconds.

  
  


“I knew it!” Eve exclaims, as she bursts into the main room, her eyes settling on the piano and Villanelle, who is sitting there so perfectly poised as she plays, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to be doing.

  
  


And then Eve notices what she’s wearing... a lacy black bodysuit. And her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, and her lips are a deep burgundy red.

  
  


Eve swallows.

  
  


“Umm...”

  
  


Villanelle stops playing, rising suddenly from her seat, and the atmosphere becomes instantly heavy and oppressive; like all the air has just been sucked out of the room, and someone has turned the heating up very, very high.

  
  


Eve resists the urge to fan herself with her hand, opting instead to pull rather pathetically at the hem of her towel, hoping to promote airflow.

  
  


“Oh, Eve...” Villanelle sighs heavily, like she’s about to have a very serious conversation with her. Maybe she is. Eve literally has no idea. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

  
  


And as soon as she says ‘ _this’_ there’s no doubt in Eve’s mind what she’s referring to.

  
  


“I mean, I’m guessing... a while.” Eve gulps, impressed she still has the ability to form a sentence. 

  
  


Villanelle doesn’t bother to follow that up, just stands there, looking Eve up and down, with those focused, cat-like eyes. 

  
  


And Eve suddenly feels like she’s the epicentre of the whole universe, if the universe could ever have a single, central point, which she suspects it does not, because the universe is just an infinitely unravelling, endless expanse...

  
  


_Oh my God, stop_ , she says to herself.

  
  


Villanelle laughs, obviously catching something that amuses her in Eve’s expression.

  
  


“You think way too much.” She diagnosis suddenly, moving forward. “I’m going to help you with that.”

  
  


“Err-“

  
  


The err is the last thing that Eve remembers of that particular moment, because Villanelle crosses the room and kisses her so deeply, she would happily argue with anyone who dares disagree that it touches her soul. The pull of her lips and hands so strong that it has Eve on her tiptoes, as they stagger backwards towards the bed.

  
  


And Eve is sort of expecting that level of passion to continue, as Villanelle yanks hard on the front of her towel, forcing the soft, damp fabric to part and fall discarded to the floor; Villanelle’s gaze literally seeming to penetrate Eve’s bare body then, right before she shoves her back, onto the bed.

  
  


Eve hits the mattress with force, and she can’t deny that it ignites her in all the right places, to be so roughly handled by Villanelle. And she’s totally onboard with it if that’s how this is going to go, because she’s always envisioned it being something like this. She’d even go so far as to say that she’s fantasised endlessly about it, actually.

  
  


But Villanelle has now rather unexpectedly stilled, and she’s looking down at Eve with a completely unreadable expression.

  
  


****

Villanelle’s brain comes back online. And this is not typical for her during sex, normally her brain is offline - pleasantly disconnected even. It’s there, of course, orchestrating her movements, but its not really aware, or processing or conjuring any substantial or significant thought.

  
  


But now her brain is having _all the thoughts._ And it’s ironic she thinks, how she wants nothing more than to void Eve of hers, and now her head is completely and utterly full of her own.

  
  


Eve, who is still lying on the bed looking up at her, gloriously naked and waiting.

  
  


And waiting.

  
  


And waiting.

  
  


And _still_ waiting.

  
  


Villanelle breathes out heavily, forcing her limbs to move again, lowering herself over the top of Eve, brushing her lips across hers, not kissing, just taking her in.

  
  


Eve closes her eyes in response and synchs their breathing for a moment, her hand moving to stroke along the back of Villanelle’s neck. 

  
  


And the fact that Eve can do that is completely unacceptable really, because Eve should be just as mindless as she had been a few moments ago, when Villanelle had surprised her at the piano, and before Villanelle’s brain had kicked in and given her a window of unpermitted recovery time.

  
  


“Are you alright?” Eve checks, eyes opening, and Villanelle bites back a groan, because she does not want Eve to be worrying about her right now.

  
  


She nods back, moving her lips to Eve’s ear and whispering: 

  
  


“Когда ты придешь, ты будешь кричать мое имя.”

  
  


“What does that mean?”

  
  


Villanelle draws back a little, smiling as she answers:

  
  


“It means, you are going to _scream_ my name when you come.”

  
  


And Eve drops her hand limply back onto the bed at that, her brown eyes emptying all over again.

  
  


Satisfied, Villanelle feels a flicker of heat flow through her, as she returns her undivided attention, thoughts and all, back to Eve. Kissing and nipping, and licking across her skin. Exalting in the curve and rise of her breasts, tongue and purposeful blows of air teasing her nipples. 

  
  


But it’s different she soon discovers, when the thinking - and dare she say feeling? - part of her is activated too. Because she doesn’t just do unto Eve as she normally would, she finds herself so acutely mesmerised by Eve’s reactions to her - like the way Eve’s breathing speeds up, or the way the fingers on her right hand flex, or the way her stomach draws in just that little bit deeper - that she has to keep taking measured pauses to consider her next move.

  
  


But that doesn’t even seem to register with Eve, who is apparently so lost in the throes of it all that she’s barely opened her eyes again since Villanelle translated her Russian uttering.

  
  


“Open your eyes. I want you to look at me, Eve.”

  
  


Villanelle likes to be watched, and she likes to watch Eve watching her, so it’s a double delight when Eve forces her eyelids to part again, her eyes dark with desire - the darkest Villanelle has ever seen them.

  
  


Villanelle does her best then, to let Eve know this is not _just_ sex, or fucking or another conquest. She takes her time, reverencing her, kissing and kissing her again in every nook and across every new plain of skin, until her lips start to feel hot and almost numb from the demand. She lets her hands trail her thighs, teasing her way closer to Eve’s entrance, and then pulling away again, because it makes Eve pant and almost writhe with anticipation.

  
  


But Eve as it turns out is not going to beg, not like Villanelle had, Eve is determined and trusting, her eyes staying locked onto Villanelle the whole time. And it’s intense, intense enough that Villanelle herself is starting to ache from it, from the need to see Eve fall over the edge.

  
  


From another rush of Eve.

  
  


The first touch makes them both inhale sharply, Eve because she’s clearly so, so ready for it, and Villanelle because Eve is so unbelievably wet. She tells her that, she thinks, but it might have been in Russian again.

  
  


Eve is losing it now, eyes no longer focussed, body beginning to move and stretch and yearn without her consent, as Villanelle’s fingers press and move against her. And Villanelle makes sure to hit all the right spots, in all the right ways, but never enough, always falling short and leaving Eve unravelling further and further beneath her.

  
  


“I-“ Is the first and only syllable Eve manages to blurt, and Villanelle gives brief thought to the words that might follow it - _I want? I need? I love?_ \- but none ever do.

  
  


Villanelle drags herself downwards now, leaving another trail of kisses, lipstick and tongue across Eve’s body, pulling Eve down with her, so that her legs are just off the bed now, and then she settles her head between her thighs.

  
  


And Eve reacts with frenzy, bucking so uncontrollably Villanelle almost has to stop, but settles instead for providing a quick lull, her hands filling the space temporarily, until the bucking becomes more of a jerk and Villanelle’s mouth can take over again.

  
  


The culmination of her efforts comes, and when it does it’s like an explosion, fast, sudden and loud - Eve is _so_ loud - muscles tightening and shuddering, body collapsing so hard that Villanelle has to hold her against the bed to keep her from sliding off. And then Villanelle takes her all over again, not even giving her a moment to breathe, Eve’s nervous system so shot and hypersensitive that it easily trips back out, sends her spiralling for a second time.

  
  


And, as promised, Eve does scream out her name.

  
  


Only it’s the wrong name, it’s...

  
  


_**Oksana.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errrr, yesss, me know what you think O_O


	27. With Compliments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all - what has this thing become??? 80,000 words. I think that's how many words you need for a PHD. Can I get a PHD in this?
> 
> Second of all - thank you to everyone who has commented on the last chapter, and the people who are new and are commenting on previous chapters - it means SO much. I highly doubt I'd still be writing this if it weren't for all of you (not that I'm not enjoying it).
> 
> Thirdly - this is a little bit of a baby chapter, not intentionally, but just under 3k. However, it's heavy in places. Drama, drama, drama. So I think it's probably lengthy enough.
> 
> Just like this summary.
> 
> P.S. FLUFF & FEELINGS HEAVY.

Eve is shattered, spread like shrapnel across the middle of the bed, her body shelled and numb, tingling and blissful, in the shaky haze of her aftermath.

  
  


Villanelle lies beside her as she travels through it, staying quiet and still, her breathing slow and warm against Eve’s bare skin. 

  
  


And Eve wishes that Villanelle would touch her, which sounds really rather ridiculous, because Villanelle has just touched her quite literally _everywhere_ , inside _and_ out. But now Villanelle has stopped touching her, save for the petering whoosh of her breaths, and she feels the absence of it like a cold chill. 

  
  


Eve lolls towards her, that’s the only word for it really, because she’s all heavy limbed and heavy bodied, a bit like a sea animal washed up on the sand: immobile, winded and disoriented. And then finally, she feels the lacy net of Villanelle’s bodysuit, amidst the warming contact of skin on skin.

  
  


Villanelle shifts into her in return, making a dry, guttural noise, and Eve’s eyes flutter open in an instant attempt to translate her face.

  
  


But oh, that face; so open and doe-eyed, with a line of slight uncertainty creasing her lips. Eve feels her breath get stolen by her all over again, feels her still sunken body sink a little deeper again too. Thinks she could actually drown in her and not even care, because what a way to go: submerged in Villanelle.

  
  


But Villanelle’s nervous, she can tell, and nerves and Villanelle are an unpredictable combination.

  
  


“It’s alright.” Eve finds herself saying, which seems like a very strange thing to be telling the person who just simultaneously exploded and imploded your whole world. “This is perfect. _You’re_ perfect.”

  
  


The latter comment seems to be the one Villanelle needs to hear, because she nestles right into Eve then, tangling their legs and securing an arm tightly around her.

  
  


And that’s it - now it really is absolutely perfect, and Eve feels warm, and somehow even more sated. And sleepy.

  
  


“You called me Oksana.”

  
  


Villanelle speaks so softly that Eve, who is still very much adrift, can barely hear her.

  
  


“Huh?” Is Eve’s clumsy response from behind closed eyes.

  
  


“You. Called. Me. Oksana.” Villanelle repeats, stabbing the words out now, her voice still soft and leaving no emotional trail for Eve to follow whatsoever.

  
  


Eve’s eyes drag open again, blinking heavily, her relaxed features beginning to fold into a frown.

  
  


“Huh?” She repeats, even though she heard it crystal clear this time. “I did? I’m sorry.”

  
  


And Eve really _is_ sorry, because she promised Villanelle she wouldn’t ever do that again. 

  
  


“I don’t know why I did... I didn’t mean to.” She adds next, wishing she could think of something more to say, something to undo it or to fix it, or to explain it. But she can’t.

  
  


Villanelle laughs, but it’s tight and choked, like it’s forcing its way out.

  
  


“Well I know _that_ , Eve. I just fucked you into oblivion. You probably don’t even know your _own_ _name_.”

  
  


It’s not the response Eve is expecting, it’s surprisingly measured actually, for Villanelle.

  
  


Eve’s eyes cautiously close again.

  
  


“You don’t seem mad?”

  
  


“I’m not mad.”

  
  


“You seem... something else, though?”

  
  


“Sleep.” Villanelle kisses her temple. “I will enjoy watching you sleep, knowing that I wore you out.” 

  
  


“Ugh, you know I find it creepy when you do that though.” Eve protests, despite feeling a definite tug within her to refuel, and fast.

  
  


“If you’re asleep, you won’t even know about it.” Is Villanelle’s simplistic answer, and Eve’s eyes roll under her eyelids. “Eve, I need to know first. Did it feel...?”

  
  


The sudden change of subject is surprise enough to keep Eve awake, let alone the confusing half-question.

  
  


“Did it feel... what?” 

  
  


Villanelle is hesitating, deliberating, her hand bumping restlessly against Eve’s abdomen.

  
  


She shrugs before offering:

  
  


“Like it’s supposed to? I guess.”

  
  


_Like it’s supposed to?_

  
  


Eve repeats the question to herself, completely at a loss.

  
  


“Err, what?”

  
  


Villanelle sighs, and it sounds a little wistful.

  
  


“Nothing.” And Eve literally feels her withdrawing, even though she remains physically in exactly the same place. “I am just having a moment. It’s silly.”

  
  


“You’re allowed to have moments.” Eve says quietly, bringing her hand over Villanelle’s to still it. “And it’s not silly. Tell me what you meant?”

  
  


A puff of forcefully expelled breath hits Eve’s cheek.

  
  


“I wanted you to feel it.” Villanelle mumbles now, and Eve still has no idea what she’s talking about, so chooses to say nothing, sensing that there are more words to follow. 

  
  


“I wanted...” Villanelle tsks her tongue at herself, presumably in frustration. “I just wanted you to feel the way I...“A small pause. “What I am asking you is, it was more than just sex - wasn’t it? Because I wanted it to be, but I didn’t know how t-“

  
  


Eve twists to kiss her, over and over, and she makes sure they’re deep kisses and comforting kisses, designed to soothe and restore.

  
  


“It was so, so much more, okay?” Eve tells Villanelle firmly, seeing the glisten of unshed tears in her eyes. “And I felt everything, I felt _consumed_ by how much you...”

  
  


Eve doesn’t quite know how to conclude that sentence and fortunately doesn’t need to, as Villanelle gives a stiff but quick nod, confirming her understanding.

  
  


“Good.” Villanelle sniffs, her eyes blinking and her expression neutralising, almost as though the conversation has never taken place at all. “Are you hungry? We should eat. I’ll order room service.”

  
  


****

  
  


Villanelle finally watches Eve sleep, several hours later than planned, after a late lunch stroke early dinner on the terrace, and with some shitty movie playing on the television screen in front of them.

  
  


Eve had maybe seen ten minutes of the movie before giving in and curling up on the sofa, her head gradually finding its way into Villanelle’s lap. And Villanelle’s hands had then found their way into Eve’s hair, and that had been that - Eve’s much needed, deep sleep had commenced.

  
  


Now, blessed with uninterrupted viewing, Villanelle really studies her: the oval sweep of her face, the way her lips slightly part in sleep, her long, sweeping lashes, her high cheekbones... _all of it._

  
  


And the feeling, the feeling she got on the terrace that morning, the feeling she thought she might be able to fuck away, still hasn’t gone.

  
  


It persists. Warm and glowing, like a shot of whiskey, burning a path to her heart. Or from her heart. She’s not too sure on the biology of it.

  
  


But it‘s definitely her heart that’s responsible; that thickened muscle that just keeps pumping and pumping the warm feeling all around, infecting every organ, every tissue, every fibre of her being.

  
  


_Ugh._

  
  


Villanelle’s eyes drift to the complimentary bottle of champagne that turned up with their food, and she decides that she’s definitely opening it when Eve wakes up, and having a very large glass or two. Because sex may not have fixed the feeling, but maybe alcohol can dull it for a while.

  
  


And then there’s the whole _Oksana_ issue, which she can’t even be mad about, which she _isn’t_ even mad about. She’s puzzled though - puzzled as to why Eve said it, and puzzled as to why it didn’t upset her more, to hear _that_ name, her intentionally forgotten name, cried out in such unbridled, intimate acclaim.

  
  


“Oksana.” She whispers it to herself, trying it out on her tongue again. “Oksana.”

  
  


“You okay?” Eve murmurs back, still shrouded in sleep, but apparently not shrouded enough.

  
  


Villanelle doesn’t answer, because she’s clearly not okay is she, if she’s sat here chanting her name to herself? _Her old name._

  
  


“Do you want to talk about it again?” Eve sits up, yawning and stretching, and coming to rest rather heavily against Villanelle’s side. “I think we should talk about it again.”

  
  


Hearing that makes Villanelle stiffen, because she doesn’t like to hear that she _should_ do anything.

  
  


“Still too much history?” Eve offers out now, soft and enquiring, tracing a little pattern on the back of Villanelle’s hand. 

  
  


“I - no. Yes. I mean, always. But that’s not it.”

  
  


“Mm.” Eve accepts, still tracing those delicate patterns on her skin. "So tell me again, why you don't like it?"

  
  


“I need a drink.” 

  
  


And needing a drink also means that she needs to move away from Eve, which she does somewhat regretfully, but maybe with a tinge of relief also. Because it’s overwhelming at times, this thing she’s falling into now with Eve.

  
  


She checks the label on the bottle before she opens it, and it’s a fairly mid-range, but still expensive, bottle of Laurent-Perrier. Not her favourite, but acceptable.

  
  


The cork pops easily, and she pours two glasses, setting one down on the coffee table in front of Eve.

  
  


“Eugh, no thanks. No alcohol for me, not after all that coffee.” Eve says, with an adorable wrinkle of her nose. 

  
  


Villanelle gives a little shrug and flops back down beside her, feeling an even greater flood of relief when Eve resumes her previous position and presses back into her.

  
  


“It is like I told you before. Oksana was just too weak, and too... damaged.” Villanelle throws it out there again almost carelessly, and then takes a sip of her champagne. “I outgrew her. I had to, to be who I am now. So I chose a new name, a powerful name, for the new me - Villanelle.”

  
  


Eve’s mouth gives way, a snag of breath catching as she summons up the words for what she wants to say.

  
  


“But...”

  
  


“There is no _but_ , Eve. It is exactly how I said it is. _You_ wanted to talk about it again, about why I don't use it, and now we have. You don’t get to change it all just because you don’t like how it sounds. And you can’t _fix it_ , either.”

  
  


Villanelle feels only a few steps away from sparking into a full blown rage, and Eve, who can surely see this, looks completely unphased. Despite the fact that this same conversation, not too long ago, had resulted in a can of beans being launched at her head.

  
  


“I know. I know I don’t. It’s just you’re still Oksana, aren’t you? She isn’t just erased.” Eve takes her hand again now, squeezing it. “And everything that happened to her, all the things that should _never_ have happened to her, they can’t just be erased either.”

  
  


“Hm. Well.” Villanelle can’t voice much more than that, because hearing Eve talk about Oksana like that, about **her** like that, definitely hits another nerve or ten.

  
  


“She’s still a part of you, hmm? Even if it’s just a little, tiny part.”

  
  


“Pfft.” Villanelle isn’t about to agree to anything of the sort, because it’s far too close to the truth; so she just tugs her hand away, folds her arms and looks back at the television, even though the plot has long since passed her by. 

  
  


“I think it’s a really pretty name too.” Eve strokes Villanelle’s hair, tucking it behind her ear as she talks. “And it sounds so pretty on you.”

  
  


Villanelle softens a bit at hearing that, because it appeals to that buried deep part of her. The part of her that’s never heard anyone say her name, Oksana, sounds pretty before.

  
  


“Do you think so?”

  
  


“Yes.” Eve replies with certainty. “And I think Oksana is incredibly pretty and beautiful, and funny and smart.”

  
  


Villanelle shudders a little, the words providing some sort of cathartic ripple inside of her.

  
  


“Do you think...” Villanelle chews down on her lip. “Do you Oksana can be good, too?”

  
  


“Of course.” Eve kisses her gently, her hand ghosting her face. “I _know_ you are good, Oksana.”

"And... wanted?"

"Always wanted."

A nod, an exhale, and then:

“Say it again. Say all of it again.”

  
  


Eve does, Eve says it over and over again, until Villanelle folds into her shoulder and cries. Or maybe it’s the little Oksana part of her who cries. Either way, it’s like the rickety dam she built up is finally broken, and water spills and sloshes out, and it’s completely uncontrollable, unrestrained and sobbing.

  
  


Eve doesn’t ssh her, or try to quieten her, she just holds her against her, even though the fabric on her shoulder gets increasingly soggy and hot.

  
  


And it stops eventually of course, slowing to a drizzle, slow enough that Villanelle can finally pull back, wipe at her cheeks and take a long swig of her champagne.

  
  


“Thank you.” She whispers finally, with a small frown. “And, Eve?” A shaky breath fills the silence. “I didn’t actually mind when you said it - I mean, I _don’t_ mind, if you want to call me that, sometimes.”

  
  


“Okay.” Eve whispers back. “Maybe I will, sometimes.”

  
  


****

  
  


Afternoon gives way to evening, and Eve is still spread across the sofa, making vague attempts to complete a crossword, while Villanelle tinkers on the piano. 

  
  


It feels surprisingly ordinary, but definitely not mundane - definitely not like ordinary had felt with Niko. No, there’s something wonderful about _ordinary_ when it comes to Villanelle, something fragile, and temporary and precious. Like it might all get swept away again at any moment. But if it doesn’t, if things could just stay ordinary for a day or two, Eve thinks she would be okay with that too. Because they deserve a little ordinary, don’t they?

  
  


Villanelle hits a bum note, and then a second, and then a third.

  
  


The third has Eve glancing up, pen tip pinched between her lips.

  
  


“You okay?” She asks, talking around the Biro, which makes her voice a little muffled.

  
  


Villanelle is leaning forward over the keys, pressing her thumb and index finger against her eyelids.

  
  


“Yeah, I think so.” She mutters, dropping her hand and fixing Eve with a cloudy stare.

  
  


“Hmm, you look tired? Come and sit with me.”

  
  


Villanelle lets out a half-groan as Eve gathers herself up to make room for Villanelle on the sofa, her puzzle book quickly finding its way to the floor, forgotten.

  
  


“I, um...” Villanelle stands slowly, using the top of the piano for support.

  
  


“How much champagne did you drink?!”

  
  


“A glass?” Is Villanelle’s confused reply, and she then staggers from the piano to the coffee table, knocking over a vase in the process. “Oosh...”

  
  


“ _A glass? Really?_ ” Eve repeats sceptically, as Villanelle’s legs weave her a few more paces, until she is close enough to rather sloppily collapse herself onto the sofa.

  
  


“I swear.” She insists, head dropping back. “Ohhh, I feel reallyyyy weird.”

  
  


Eve frowns.

  
  


“The champagne... you said you didn’t order it? They just sent it up with the food?”

  
  


“Yes, I told you. There was a cute little ‘with compliments’ note and... oh.” Villanelle pales. “ _Oh_ _shit_.”

  
  


Shit.

  
  


Eve’s brain blurs, suddenly filled with a myriad of thoughts, each one seeming even more awful than the last. 

  
  


_It’s The Twelve, obviously, it has to be, but where are they? And what did they put in the champagne? Poison?_

  
  


“Do you think it’s poison?” Eve blurts out, and Villanelle scowls at her.

  
  


“Thank you for that terrifying idea, Eve. But no, I think if it was poison I’d be dead already. Probably.”

  
  


_Probably?!_

  
  


“That’s not very reassuring?”

  
  


Villanelle groans again.

  
  


“Get the bags, from under the bed.”

  
  


“Okay...” Eve agrees, slightly confused. “I doubt you can just pay The Twelve off though?”

  
  


“We are not paying them off, Eve.” Villanelle sounds exasperated now, and a little bit slurred. “I have weapons in there. Under the cash.”

  
  


Weapons. Of course. 

  
  


And there goes their little slice of ordinary - well, it was nice while it lasted. 

  
  


“Why drug us? And where do you think they are? Why haven’t they come for us yet?”

  
  


Eve can’t stop the questions, they just keep on coming, and Villanelle slips a little lower in her seat.

  
  


“Probably want... weaken us first, easy targets... basic stuff.” Is her eventual reply, eyes now shut.

  
  


“Villanelle, you better wake the hell up, because my aim is awful.”

  
  


That gets a laugh out of her, and her eyes flutter open.

  
  


“Okay, okay...” She mumbles, trying to push herself back up the sofa, and mostly failing.

  
  


Eve rummages through the bags, shocked to find several handguns and knives amongst the crisp stacks of notes - and then she wonders _why_ she’s shocked, because she’s dating(?) an assassin.

  
  


_Is she dating an assassin?_

_She's definitely fucking an assassin._

_Ex-assassin, maybe?_

  
  


God, they are so far from ordinary.

  
  


Villanelle slides gracelessly to the floor with a thud.

  
  


“Prop me up.” Is her next instruction, although Eve isn’t entirely convinced that there’s enough furniture in the room to keep her propped up right now.

  
  


“Err, I’ll try.”

  
  


“Gun.” She says next, gesturing vaguely in Eve’s direction with an empty, limp hand.

  
  


“Really? Do you think you can even shoot one?”

  
  


“Eve... not helping.”

  
  


“Right, sorry.” Eve lets the air settle before going in with an enthusiastic: "You are such a great shot though! And I speak from personal experience."

  
"Every time..." Villanelle murmurs. "You overdo it, every. single. time."  
  
  
  


"Oh, shut up."

  
  


Eve uses the coffee table to pin Villanelle upright against the sofa, and then a cushion on top of the table, to support her hand and the gun. Villanelle just about manages to keep the barrel pointed in the general direction of their hotel door, and disengages the safety with a clumsy and clunky fumble.

  
  


Eve takes a step back then, to admire her handiwork - takes in Villanelle’s squinting eyes and heavy head, and sighs.

  
  


“We are so screwed.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhhh I think they are. What do you think??
> 
> Bit of a whirlwind ending. So excited for the next chapter. Lord knows how that's going to go down (I know I don't ha - I mean, I'm brimming with ideas... have confidence in me...)
> 
> Really loved exploring some of Villanelle's issues in this part, hope I did them justice.
> 
> I have done a ridiculous amount of Googling for these last two parts, although that probably isn't evident in the content lol. But their hotel room does exist, for anyone who fancies stumping up 2k for a night there... I'll link it just so we can all ooh and ahh https://www.corinthia.com/london/rooms-suites/musicians-penthouse/


	28. Room Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, these girls have exhausted me this chapter. So much going on for them - but I suppose that's what makes a story.
> 
> Thanks for the comments on the last chapter :) pleased several of you enjoyed the Oksana part as I wanted to do it justice.

The waiting is the worst. 

  
  


Villanelle tells Eve to stand behind the piano, hoping it will act as some sort of buffer when the bullets start flying, but Eve can’t just stand. Eve paces, because that’s what Eve does during times of emotional stress.

  
  


Villanelle occasionally twitches her trigger finger, just to make sure it’s still responsive, just to make sure _she’s_ still responsive. And she’s pretty sure she almost loses consciousness a few times, or at least comes close to nodding off, but she guesses that’s their grand plan. To give the drug a chance to properly kick in before they make their entrance.

  
  


And the longer they make them wait, the more drug she’s absorbed, and the more fucked she is.

  
  


God, they’re fucked.

  
  


And whose smart idea was it to get a penthouse suite that’s seven floors up? 

  
  


Okay, so it was hers, but the thought of getting down seven floors right now feels absolutely hideous, if not downright impossible. Even in the lift.

  
  


Villanelle groans, cricks her neck and tests her finger again, and then...

  
  


There’s a knock at the door.

  
  


A call of:

  
  


“Room service!”

  
  


And they definitely haven’t ordered room service.

  
  


Villanelle and Eve lock into one another from across the room.

  
  


This is it then.

  
  


Eve opens her mouth as though she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t, she just gives Villanelle a _look_ \- and they say a single look can say a thousand words, but Villanelle would rather have the words, because she’s never been very good at making sense of unspoken, emotional things. Or even spoken emotional things sometimes, to be fair.

  
  


But whatever it is that Eve doesn’t say, the look still leaves Villanelle brimming with that warm feeling, which is kind of nice right now because she was feeling a little chilly.

  
  


Their hotel door is blown off its hinges moments later, and Villanelle can’t help but mutter to herself:

  
  


“Subtle.”

  
  


She does sometimes wonder where The Twelve finds these idiots, although in fairness the roofied champagne had been a nice and unexpected touch - she had to give them that.

  
  


Three men enter, and the front runner, who is bald and rather fat, grins when he sees her propped up against the sofa; perhaps she’d even go so far as to say he laughs, actually - which is just _rude_.

  
  


Villanelle is immediately irritated, and it’s hard to say whether that irritation somehow outweighs the sedation, but she tips the gun upwards in one fluid motion and pulls the trigger.

  
  


The bullet seems to take an age to land, edging through the air in a frame by frame blur - and okay, that’s probably the drugs - but as it’s happening she thinks of Dasha, and all the gruelling endurance training she put her through. Things like - no sleep or food for forty-eight hours before going into combat, usually against some big, burly lout with a hugely unfair advantage - like an assault rifle. 

  
  


And she thinks that maybe it’s because of that training, or maybe it’s just that she really doesn’t like this bald guy who’s here to kill them, or maybe it’s because Eve is there, completely reliant upon her - but anyway, the shot - it’s perfect. 

  
  


It hits him square in his podgy head, just a few centimetres up from his eyes, and he drops quite literally dead to the floor.

  
  


“You bitch!”

  
  


The complaint comes from Man Two, who sounds like he might be German, but regardless - he pulls a gun.

  
  


And that’s not good.

  
  


Villanelle fires another shot, which is not so spectacular, because it just sort of ricochets off the wall, and then she topples herself over.

  
  


And he starts shooting, and she rolls under the sofa - she is actually _hiding_ under the sofa now, quite possibly stuck there for all eternity because what is muscle function?

  
  


And Eve. Fuck, _Eve_.

  
  


“Hey, asshole.”

  
  


Eve’s voice, and more gunfire, so much gunfire. 

  
  


But it’s not being directed at her anymore.

  
  


Villanelle flings herself over, and over again, until she’s rolled herself out from under the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling now, as she wills her central nervous system into action.

  
  


Finally, her nerves fire, and she’s up, **she’s** **standing** ; _swaying_ , but **standing**. And she looks immediately for Eve, spots her small body in the hands of Man Three, watches as he sends her hurtling across the piano, causing a spattering of random keys.

  
  


And sedation or not now, she’s moving, pushing off walls and surfaces to get to Eve, almost tripping over the body of Man Two, which has been absolutely shot to pieces - by Eve, presumably ( _niiiice_ ).

  
  


Only Man Two isn’t dead, half-dead and bleeding out - most definitely - but he’s still alive enough to grab her ankle, and the next thing she knows she’s sprawled on the floor again.

  
  


“Fuck!” Villanelle exclaims, as they commence in some kind of clumsy, semi-conscious brawl, which is mostly hands grabbing at faces and necks. And Villanelle clocks him round the head with her gun, which she is somehow still clinging onto, and he goes for her eyes and yanks on her hair.

  
  


Ordinarily that would be enough to tip her over the edge, that he has the audacity to threaten two of her best features, but all she can think about right now is...

  
  


**Eve**.

  
  


****

  
  


**Villanelle**.

  
  


She’s all Eve can think about, even as she’s being pinned against the wall, oxygen depleting from her system and the world starting to dim.

  
  


“I don’t have to kill you, if you stop fighting.” The man tells Eve in a deep, gritty voice, his hands still choking her neck. “We only want her, you’re just collateral damage.”

  
  


Eve widens her eyes even further, she tries to nod, to agree, to say with her eyes: _yes_ , _please, please, just let me go._

  
  


His hold loosens, her feet touch the floor again, and her lungs haul in air.

  
  


There’s a hazy few seconds, where she’s still out of it, still recovering enough to almost forget what’s happening...

  
  


And then she yanks the switchblade from the waistband of her trousers, flicks it open and stabs him in the stomach.

  
  


It feels different to when she stabbed Villanelle, more violent, less intimate, yet still completely personal. But there’s a strange disconnect, because she’s fighting for her life, and she’s fighting for Villanelle’s life too.

  
  


For their life together, maybe.

  
  


Villanelle appears behind him then, looking like someone who is entirely too sedated to be vertical, but she grabs the guy by the collar regardless, whirls him round so that his head is inside the guts of the piano and slams down the heavy lid.

  
  


Eve suspects this would probably crush his head like a grape under normal circumstances, but Villanelle’s not firing on all cylinders so it just kind of stuns the guy, who is now groaning, holding his head and dripping blood all over the luxurious carpet. 

  
  


And he looks _pissed_.

  
  


He backhands Villanelle so hard Eve hears a crack as she goes down, and then he starts towards Eve again, swearing and cursing.

  
  


Eve surprises even herself with what she does next; she launches herself at him with a primal scream, completely tanked up on her will to survive - on her will for _them_ to survive.

  
  


Blade still drawn, she stabs him in the chest, and then she stabs him again, and again, and again, and again.

  
  


It’s relentless.

  
  


It’s intoxicating.

  
  


It’s wet sounding, and wet feeling, as more and more cherry coloured liquid spills out of him.

  
  


And he grabs her neck again in his last moments, squeezing her so hard this time that she instantly blacks out.

  
  


And they’re all blacked out then.

  
  


All five bodies, some breathing, some not, flat and lifeless on the penthouse floor.

  
  


****

  
  


Long before she wakes, Villanelle can smell coconut and vanilla. It infiltrates her like a saccharine fog, making her feel safe and warm, and she automatically assumes therefore that she must be in bed with Eve - rather than crumpled, cold and barely conscious on the carpet.

  
  


Eve slaps her.

  
  


Twice.

  
  


The first is a micro-slap, more of a quick, stinging pat on the cheek. But the second fully connects a swung palm with her face, and she moans out, wondering what she’s done to upset Eve so much, and whether her snoring has been particularly loud again. 

  
  


“Get. Up.” Eve hisses in her ear, and she’s pulling at her arms as well now. “Villanelle, I swear to God.”

  
  


“I’m tired.” Villanelle grunts back at her, turning slightly and wondering where her memory foam pillow is. And her Yves Delorme blanket. And... “Where’s the bed? Eve...” Villanelle feels slightly concerned for herself now. “Did I fall out of bed?”

  
  


“No, no, you great big idiot, you were never in bed - listen, you have to get up, okay?” A sharp breath. “Villanelle?!“

  
  


And then Eve is ranting on and on, about needing to leave, and blood, _so much blood_ \- she keeps saying, her voice rising an octave ( _is she excited by it?_ ) - and The Twelve. She goes on about them a lot, so much it starts to make Villanelle’s head hurt.

  
  


“Shut up! Okay, okay, I am up!” And Villanelle tries to sit up, like she’d always try to sit up, but nothing is happening. “I’m... not up. Eve? Why am I not up?”

  
  


“Oh, for crying out loud.” And Eve is suddenly behind her, yanking her up under her arms. “Christ, you’re heavy.”

  
  


“That’s rude?”

  
  


“Well, you could at least try and hel-“

  
  


“Oh!” Villanelle interrupts, as she takes in the scene of devastation around them. “Wowww...”

  
  


“You don’t remember any of it, do you?”

  
  


“I... emmm... hmmm...”

  
  


“Don’t hurt yourself.”

  
  


“Highlights?”

  
  


“Probably when you shut that guy’s head in the piano.”

  
  


“I’ve _always_ wanted to do that!” Villanelle exclaims, and then looks suddenly sad. “I wish I could remember it...”

  
  


“You shot another guy in the head, too. He was literally dead the second he stepped in here.”

  
  


“I am _so_ awesome, right?”

  
  


“Yes. You’re excellent.” Eve says dryly, but Villanelle can tell she’s smiling.

  
  


“What about that guy over there?”

  
  


“Uh, so, I shot him a lot, but I think you finished him off. And piano-head guy, I um, I stabbed him. I mean... I REALLY stabbed him, Villanelle.”

  
  


“Ooooh, you _really stabbed_ _him_ , did you?” Villanelle chuckles, because this is Eve, and ‘really stabbed’ probably means a little jab or two in his leg. Or shoulder, if past experiences are anything to go by. “Where did you really stab him then, Eve?”

  
  


“ _Everywhere?_ I think. I mean... I, I couldn’t stop! Except, then he strangled me, and I passed out, so...”

  
  


“Jesus?”

  
  


Villanelle wasn’t expecting that.

  
  


“I know.” 

  
  


“That’s...”

  
  


“I know. Okay? It’s awful, I feel... _awful_. I was, I was like a wild animal!”

  
  


“Do you?” Villanelle questions, because Eve isn’t acting or sounding like someone who feels awful. “And, I was going to say it’s _hot_ , actually.”

  
  


“Oh...” Eve exhales heavily in her ear. 

  
  


“Yeah.” Villanelle leans her head back, pressing into her. 

  
  


****

  
  


And there they are, having a moment in a room full of dead people, about Eve slashing some guy to shreds.

  
  


So.not.ordinary.

  
  


“We should go.” Eve reminds, because they really, really should. “They might send more.”

  
  


“Let them.” Villanelle replies. “I bet we can take them, we are an _amazinggg_ team!”

  
  


“You are so high.”

  
  


“I am not? Maybe I am just happy to be alive, Eve?” Villanelle turns into Eve’s neck now, nuzzling closer. “Maybe I am just happy to be in your arms, hmm?”

  
  


“Now I know you’re high, _and_ horny.”

  
  


Villanelle gives a small shrug.

  
  


“Well, yeah. Maybe a little?”

  
  


“You were a lot easier to deal with when you were unconscious.” Eve sighs now, as she starts to shift into a crouch, still supporting Villanelle from behind. “Okay, we need to get you on your feet. You ready?”

  
  


“Uh-huh.”

  
  


Eve moves to stand, pulling Villanelle with her, and honestly it’s like helping the really drunk girl at a party - you know the one. Eve certainly knows the one, because she’s been _the one_ many times herself.

  
  


“Just, try and... put your foot - no, no that’s _my_ foot... _Villanelle_... stop, just, get your hands out from under there, I’m trying to... _okay_...”

  
  


Villanelle is at least semi-upright now, and her hands are no longer underneath Eve’s top. She’s smiling too, although it’s such a big, woozy smile that Eve can hardly see her eyes.

  
  


“Well... you’ll have to do, I suppose. I need to get the bags. Lean against the wall for a second, alright?”

  
  


“I will lean _anywhere_ you tell me, Eve.”

  
  


“Are you trying to flirt with me? Because the act of leaning is not very sexy.”

  
  


“It is when _I_ do it.”

  
  


“Right...” Eve does her best to ignore her, because they have a murder scene to flee. _Another_ murder scene to flee. “Do you want anything else out of the room?”

  
  


“Of course I do! Get all of my clothes. And the tiny bottles of Aveda in the bathroom. And the hotel towels, and the robes, and the matching slippers. Can you fit a pillow in anywhere?”

  
  


Eve immediately wishes she hadn’t asked.

  
  


“Villanelle, we don’t have time? We can buy all of those things later, okay?”

  
  


Villanelle looks sulky, but eventually relents with a roll of her heavy eyes.

  
  


“Fiiiiine.”

  
  


“Okay, good.” Eve breathes a sigh of relief. “Now, we just need to get you downstairs, past reception and into a taxi.”

  
  


“Umm, Eve? What about _you?_ You are _covered_ in blood...”

  
  


****

  
  


Villanelle is a mess. And she _knows_ she’s a mess, it’s just she really is quite helpless to do anything about it. 

  
  


Currently, she seems to be liaising between one of three states: sort of fine, semi-conscious and trying to kiss Eve’s face off.

  
  


The third is probably her favourite state, but, sadly, she’s cognisant enough to recognise that it’s not _Eve’s_ favourite. At least not right now.

  
  


Not when they’re in an elevator, trying to slip out of a luxury hotel, with half a million pounds, an assortment of weapons, and three dead bodies in the penthouse.

  
  


“It doesn’t look good for us.” Is all Eve keeps saying, and she sounds very, very serious when she says it.

  
  


Villanelle, who has been relegated to the corner after the aforementioned kissing, pouts a little deeper, and sways a little tipsier, her hips bumping off the sides of the elevator like she’s in a pinball machine.

  
  


“You’d better pull yourself together.” Eve warns now, as though this is somehow all her fault, or somehow within the realm of her control. “If they think you’re too drunk they won’t let you in a taxi.”

  
  


“I am not _drunk_ , Eve! You make it sound like I did all of this on purpose? It wasn’t even one of my favourite champagnes!”

  
  


“I know that! But you _look_ drunk, and you’re _acting_ drunk! So, surprise, surprise, people are going to _think_ you’re drunk!”

  
  


Villanelle slumps back into the corner, because Eve is talking very fast, and her hands are waving around in a rather nauseating blur.

  
  


“ _Look,_ I know this isn’t your fault, and as soon as I can take care of you, I will. Okay? But right now, you just need to stand up straight, smile and walk out of here. Can you do that?”

  
  


Stand up straight, smile and walk out of here. Villanelle gives a determined nod, repeating the phrase to herself several times over.

  
  


And when the elevator finally stops, and the doors ding and slide gracefully open, she does just that - she stands up straight, she smiles, she walks, she walks, she-

  
  


Falls flat on her face.

  
  


Right in the middle of the lobby.

  
  


“Oh, for fucks sake.” Eve is muttering, Eve who is loaded up with all their bags, and is now trying to manoeuvre them around her body, as she simultaneously tries to help Villanelle up off the floor.

  
  


And then the concierge comes rushing over, and for the second time that week, Eve is asked:

  
  


“Should I call an ambulance?”

  
  


Eve pauses for all of five seconds, before saying:

  
  


“Yes, actually. I think an ambulance would be great.”

  
  


****

  
  


They’re blue lighted away from the hotel about twenty minutes later, successfully leaving yet another murder scene in their wake, and one that is surely even more bloody than their last.

  
  


In the back of the ambulance, under the sallow and synthetic lights, Eve looks down at herself. Before leaving the penthouse, she'd changed her clothes and hurriedly washed her hands; but there’s still flecks and streaks of blood ingrained around her fingernails, and a few missed splotches on her palms. It looks surreal, like it can’t be blood, like it’s something completely innocuous - haphazardly applied nail polish, maybe.

  
  


And Eve thinks again how she should feel horrified, or sickened by what she’s done, but she doesn’t. She wonders if this is how Villanelle feels when she kills; but then Villanelle is precise, flamboyant yes, but she isn’t... frenzied. 

  
  


Eve had felt frenzied. 

  
  


She wonders then if that makes her more psychopathic than Villanelle? She can only think of one way to find out, and that’s to score them both using Levenson’s Psychopathy scale... _how romantic_.

  
  


Eve looks over at Villanelle now, who is laid out on a stretcher, still looking pasty and also rather annoyed. The paramedic has already cannulated her and put up a bag of fluids, and Eve seriously hopes they expedite her recovery, because they can’t be hanging around at the hospital for too long.

  
  


They need a new plan.

They _seriously_ need a new plan.

And a new place to run, and a new place to hide...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooookay, bit of a cheeky ending there as I could have easily continued writing, but I feel like it's a nice little parcel. Or maybe it's a shoddy little parcel - you let know!
> 
> Sorry there's not more romantic / smutty liaisons but you know... plot. I chose plot this chapter. I'm so sorry.
> 
> OH and I know Eve was a bit snippy with Villanelle, but in my mind Eve is pretttttty stressed out with the task of getting them out of there. So, that explains that, if you were wondering.
> 
> It's my last week in my job and so I'm quite.... stressed.... but writing makes me happy! And your comments make me happy, so please do comment :)


	29. Accident and Emergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I don't actually know how long it's been. Too long it feels like.
> 
> I've had several distractions - mainly finally exiting my old job (woohoo).
> 
> To those of you who said you'd start a petition for me to becoming a KE writer - YES! Please do that!!! I'm not saying I have the ability to be, but would I be willing to try - oh yes.

  
Accident and Emergency is heaving. 

  
  


Nurses are flying about everywhere, with their well worn shoes simultaneously squeaking and sticking as they move, and new patients seem to just keep on multiplying out of thin air. There’s also a whole lot of moaning and groaning, and shouting, too.

  
  


And Villanelle’s blanket is scratchy and her pillow is flat. And things are still all hazy and floaty, and she’s beyond desperate to sleep, but she doesn’t dare shut her eyes.

  
  


“I don’t like it here, Eve.” She says again, blinking glassily up at the dirty ceiling and flickering fluorescent lighting.

  
  


“I know.” Eve says simply, reaching out to hold her hand. “We won’t be here long.”

  
  


Villanelle grunts in response to that, because she didn’t even want to be here in the first place.

  
  


“Any thoughts on where we should go?”

  
  


Villanelle is about to answer when a nurse suddenly appears, holding a clipboard. She must be in her late forties, Villanelle would guess, and she has one of those seen-it-all-before faces. 

  
  


“I’m Claire.” She says very abruptly, and with absolutely zero warmth. “What brings you to our fabulous A&E tonight?”

  
  


Villanelle fixes Claire with a sluggish but very direct look.

  
  


“Мы убили троих мужчин.” She says flatly, which translates as: we killed three men.

  
  


Claire sighs.

  
  


“She doesn’t speak English?” 

  
  


“Uhhhhh...” Eve glances between Villanelle and Claire. “No...”

  
  


“And you are?” Claire asks now, tapping her pen on her clipboard and nodding towards their joined hands.

  
  


“I’m, well... her girlfriend? I suppose.”

  
  


_I suppose_ \- Villanelle rolls her eyes at that, because it is _so Eve_ to cop out at the last minute. But it’s still nice to hear Eve call that, her girlfriend. Even if it is all just part of some cover story.

  
  


“You _suppose?_ ” Claire follows up, and Villanelle wants to high-five her because _\- exactly!_ “Can you translate?”

  
  


“No, I don’t speak Russian.” Eve says immediately, and Claire pinches the bridge of her nose.

  
  


“So, you’re her girlfriend, you _suppose_ , but you don’t speak the same language?”

  
  


Villanelle smiles and settles a little deeper into the synthetic pillow, because she’s really, really starting to enjoy this now.

  
  


Eve on the other hand shoots her a pained and pleading look for help, which of course goes ignored.

  
  


“Err...”

  
  


“Do you at least know your girlfriend’s name?” Claire continues impatiently. 

  
  


“Yes, of course! It’s, err... Rachel.”

  
  


“Rachel.” Claire repeats back, clearly unconvinced. “Rachel from _Russia_?”

  
  


“Yes...”

  
  


“Okay... and her last name?”

  
  


“Uh, Green?”

  
  


“ _Rachel Green_.”

  
  


“Yup.”

  
  


Claire lowers her pen.

  
  


“Do you know how many Rachel Greens and Monica Gellars I get through these doors?”

  
  


“Big Friends fan?” Eve asks weakly.

  
  


“No.” Is Claire’s flat response. “The paramedic said she’s intoxicated. What’s she had?”

  
  


”I have no idea, we think someone spiked her champagne.”

  
  


Villanelle points an unsteady finger at Eve.

  
  


“And Monica here is my prime suspect.” Villanelle intentionally thickens up her accent, and Eve positively glares back at her. “She is _sooo_ obsessed with me!”

  
  


“Oh, so she speaks English now, what a surprise!” Claire deadpans, still with zero facial expression. And then she turns to Eve. “Monica, did you spike her drink?”

  
  


“Me? What? No!” Eve exclaims, pointing back at Villanelle. “She hit her head too! That’s probably why... the Russian, and the... lies.”

  
  


“Right...”

  
  


“I’m hungry.” Villanelle complains now, shifting about on the uncomfortable bed. And she’s not especially hungry actually, but she feels like something sugary might remedy her groggy situation a little. “Can I get some profiteroles or a slice of gateau, or something?”

  
  


Claire stares at her.

  
  


“You’re in an underfunded, extremely busy NHS hospital? I’ll see if I can find you a tuna sandwich.”

  
  


Villanelle doesn’t know which part of that sentence is more terrifying, the tuna sandwich itself or the fact Claire has to go and ‘find it’.

  
  


“Eh... no, thank you... I’m fine.”

  
  


“That’s what I thought.” Claire responds, following up with a muttering of ‘profiteroles and gateau’. “Alright then, _Rachel_ , I just need to do a few checks, and then I’ll get one of the Doctors to come and take a look at you. Okay?”

  
  


“Suuuure.” Villanelle nods, chucking back the woven blanket to reveal her body, encased in a thin hospital gown. “Enjoy!”

  
  


The invitation is entirely lost on Claire, who doesn’t look like she’s enjoyed the body of another human being for a very long time.

  
  


“I looove nurses.” Villanelle continues, as Claire manually checks her blood pressure. “So sexy.”

  
  


“Knock it off.” Eve utters, her expression darkening. “She’s trying to concentrate.”

  
  


“I am being serious, Monica. Nurses are _seriously_ _sexy_. Aren’t they, Claire?”

  
  


“Your blood pressure is still very low.” Claire replies, slinging her stethoscope back over her neck. “I’m amazed you’re even conscious right now.”

  
  


“She’s like, impossible to kill.” Eve says with an eye roll, and then hurriedly adds: “Not that I’ve tried!”

  
  


“You did so try!” Villanelle frowns, looking to Claire now. “She _did_ try. Wanna know why?”

  
  


Claire doesn’t look like she gives a shit as to the ins and outs of why, but Villanelle, who currently feels like she has very little control over her mouth, decides to tell her anyway:

  
  


“Because sometimes, when you love someone, you will do _crazyyy things_. Right?”

  
  


“Whatever you say, hun.” Claire nods, giving Villanelle’s shoulder a little pat. 

  
  


And that’s the most humane thing Claire’s done and said this whole time, which in turn makes Villanelle wonder if there’s actually something seriously wrong with her.

  
  


“Am I going to die?” She finds herself asking, as Claire frowns and shines a torch in her eyes.

  
  


“Hm...”

  
  


“ _Hm???_ ” Villenelle queries back, looking at Eve now. 

  
  


Eve, who still looks pissed off with her, but fortunately not pissed off enough to ignore the panic that’s undoubtedly settling over her features.

  
  


“Of course you’re not going to die!” Eve reassures quickly, and then eyes Claire slightly unsurely. “She’s not, _is she?_ ”

  
  


“Highly unlikely, but she needs a head CT, and bloods.” Claire offers calmly in response. “We’ll definitely be admitting her overnight for observation, so you two better get your stories straight. And maybe come up with some better names, hey?”

  
  


****

  
  


“One wheelchair!” Eve exclaims as she pushes back through the blue curtain, into Villanelle’s cubicle.

  
  


There’s no response, because Villanelle’s lying limply on the bed, one hand draped over the side and her eyes widen open, staring blankly at the ceiling.

  
  


“Stop pretending to be dead.” Eve says wearily. Villanelle doesn’t move. “If you don’t knock that off then I’m taking this wheelchair back and I’m making you walk out of here.”

  
  


Villanelle blinks, and pouts, movement suddenly restored to her body.

  
  


“I wanted to surprise the Doctor?” She says in a small, sad voice.

  
  


“You’re not _seeing_ a Doctor.” Eve reminds, because they’ve surely had this conversation already. “Remember? We’re leaving.”

  
  


“Where are we going?” Villanelle frowns, as Eve starts to help her sit up, which involves a combination of steadying her upper body and the odd hand to the side of her lolling head.

  
  


“Christ, what the hell did they put in that champagne.”

  
  


“Banana!” Villanelle replies with the utmost certainty; Eve pulls a slightly concerned face.

  
  


“I don’t think so...”

  
  


“Noooo, no, Eve! That is where we should go!”

  
  


Eve is now seriously debating whether kidnapping Villanelle from the hospital is such a good idea.

  
  


“Maybe you _do_ need to see a Doctor...”

  
  


Villanelle laughs, which makes her head tip back again. Eve helps to ease it upright.

  
  


“ _Banana_ , Eve? In _Australia?_ It’s a place.”

  
  


“Well that’s... reassuring. Come on, let’s get you into this chair.”

  
  


“I can do it myself!” Villanelle advises her seriously, from behind almost closed eyes, her legs now dangling unevenly off the bed.

  
  


“Yeah, I know.” Eve agrees, as she helps her onto her feet. “I’m just here for moral support...”

  
  


“Wait! My bag!”

  
  


Eve sighs.

  
  


“I’ve got all the bags, okay? Don’t worry.”

  
  


“Nooooooo! You never understand me.” Villanelle sounds almost emotional now, and Eve seriously hopes she doesn’t start crying, because they don’t have time for crying. “My _IV bag_ , Eve!” 

  
  


Villanelle tugs a little on the tubing by lifting her arm.

  
  


“Don’t pull it!”

  
  


“I’m not!”

  
  


“We can’t take it with us?”

  
  


“Then I’m not coming!” Villanelle says resolutely, swaying rather precariously now. “I want to stay here and soak it up for a littttle while longer.”

  
  


“It’s not a spa treatment?”

  
  


“Some people pay a lot of money to be hooked up to these, Eve.”

  
  


“You know what? Fine! If it keeps you happy, we’ll take the damn bag.”

  
  


Villanelle grins, clearly pleased to be getting her own way, as Eve leans to unhook the bag in question from the IV pole.

  
  


“Right, you have your bag, now sit down before you fall down - _again_.”

  
  


“Eve, my gown?” Villanelle attempts to peer behind herself now, and very nearly falls over, just as Eve had prophesied mere seconds ago.

  
  


“Jesus? Your gown is fine? Sit down.”

  
  


“Are you sure?” She leans in really close to Eve now, her fumbling hands clasping at Eve’s shirt, as she whispers rather conspiratorially: “My arse is _really_ cold.”

  
  


Eve rolls her eyes and then rather begrudgingly takes a proper look behind Villanelle, and sure enough there’s her pert behind, on full display through a large gap in the gown, covered only by the flimsy lace of her panties.

  
  


Eve draws a sharp breath and Villanelle giggles, which suggests she knew this to be the case all along.

  
  


“We’ll be getting you changed in a minute anyway.” Eve manages to mutter, dragging the scratchy blanket from the bed and draping it over the seat of the wheelchair. “In the mean time you can sit on this.”

  
  


“Ew, no, I don’t want to?”

  
  


“Well stop moaning then! Jesus Christ!”

  
  


Villanelle all but throws herself down into the wheelchair, her head flopping back and limbs askew, hanging over the armrests and footrests at all angles.

  
  


Eve quickly does her best to tuck all the long, offending limbs in, then saddles herself and the wheelchair up with their bags (and the precious IV bag) and wheels Villanelle out of the cubicle.

  
  


No one says anything, no one even looks at them twice. But then Eve supposes they wouldn’t, because there’s nothing terribly unusual about wheeling someone through a hospital ward is there? She feels very, very conspicuous though, and also increasingly unnerved, because surely the hotel must have found the bodies by now?

  
  


Eve heads down a long corridor, away from A&E, and each step makes her feel a little lighter, as the possibility of getting caught and arrested for a triple murder seems to diminish. 

  
  


She quickly wheels Villanelle into the toilets, which has four, mercifully empty, stalls. And there’s something eerie about it she realises, about being in a hospital bathroom with Villanelle again. Like they’ve just gone right back to the start.

  
  


“Mm, more memories.” Villanelle hums, as though she is also appreciative of the location, which is a funny thing to say about a hospital bathroom. “I felt it then, you know.”

  
  


Eve, who is already unzipping one of their rucksacks and pulling out a change of clothes for Villanelle, doesn’t even look up.

  
  


“Felt what?” She asks, as she straightens out a long, yellow dress and comes round to the front of the wheelchair.

  
  


“That thing we have, that... pull. Did you feel it?”

  
  


“Yes, I felt it.” Eve relies softly, stretching the top of the dress in preparation for pulling it over Villanelle’s head. “Now let’s get you changed out of that gown.”

  
  


Villanelle suddenly reaches up and forward, grabbing Eve’s wrist. 

  
  


“What we have now, do you really think it is love, Eve?”

  
  


Eve breathes, she feels herself breathing, feels every muscle as it tightens and loosens, ever expansion and compression of her ribcage. And then she looks into Villanelle’s eyes, which are half-lidded and more pupil than colour, and says:

  
  


“Don’t you dare tell me that you love me in a hospital bathroom.”

  
  


“Hmm.” Villanelle considers, drawing back a little. “But-“

  
  


“And definitely don’t tell me when you can hardly see straight.”

  
  


“I can see you, Eve.” Villanelle murmurs back, tilting her head. “Isn’t that all that matters?”

  
  


****

  
  


Before Eve gets her dressed she kisses her. 

  
  


Villanelle isn’t sure if it’s in response to what she’s said, or if Eve just secretly has a thing about bathrooms now too, but whatever it is - it makes her head swim. And it makes her want more kisses and more touches.

  
  


Unfortunately, Eve is quite business-like after that, removing her gown and helping her into her dress. It’s not easy though, because Villanelle is still sitting in the wheelchair, and she’s also still hooked up to the IV bag, which has Eve umm-ing and hmm-ing as she threads it through the long-sleeved arms of the dress and back out again.

  
  


Villanelle feels a mixture of things as she sits there, just letting Eve tend to her, noting that Eve fixes up her hair too, even though she doesn’t really have to. Eve is being business-like but she’s also being _caring_ , and Villanelle finds herself giving into it, properly, perhaps for the first time.

  
  


And she thinks maybe it’s the drugs, _maybe_ , because she is certainly still under their influence - but maybe it’s not. Maybe she’s just ready to experience it now, and to trust a little.

  
  


“Beautiful.” Eve comments, as she admires Villanelle’s transformation, tucking a final stray hair from Villanelle’s forehead. 

  
  


Villanelle appreciates the compliment, but suspects she must still look quite a bit like shit.

  
  


“Let’s go to Australia, Eve.” Villanelle tries again, a little more forcefully this time. “We don’t really have to go to Banana, I just like the name. We could go to Adelaide, or Perth, or Melbourne?”

  
  


Eve strokes her hair again, still leaning over her.

  
  


“Mm, it’s a really lovely idea.”

  
  


“You...” Villanelle feels a wobble of self doubt, and decides that’s most definitely the drugs. Because she doesn’t wobble. “Do you not want to go with me, Eve?”

  
  


Eve’s face visibly falls, like the question has really upset her for some reason.

  
  


“Of course I do!”

  
  


Villanelle lets her head fall back. She’s tired. Too tired for confusing Eve conversations.

  
  


“So, we can go, then?” 

  
  


It’s that simple, to Villanelle, like a basic math problem.

  
  


“You’re not thinking straight.” Is Eve’s reply, and she’s _still_ stroking her hair.

  
  


Ugh, and why do they have to be in the toilets right now, why can’t they be on a big, soft bed. 

  
  


The thought of a bed makes Villanelle groan longingly and her eyes flutter.

  
  


“We don’t have passports, remember?” Eve continues with a soft chuckle. “Come on, we need to get in a taxi before you pass out.”

  
  


Villanelle lifts her head up, smiling giddily.

  
  


“Of course we have passports, Eve! I had some made agesss ago.”

  
  


Eve stares at her. 

  
  


“You had passports made? For _me_? For _me and you?_ ” 

  
  


“Yessss.” She squints at Eve seriously, putting a finger to her lips. “Ssshhh, they are fake, though.”

  
  


“Oh, wow. Yes, I had gathered that. Where are they? And please don’t say you’ve buried them somewhere.”

  
  


Villanelle wants to laugh but laughing requires energy and facial muscles, so she just makes a light noise in the back of her throat instead.

  
  


“One of the duffel bags. There’s a pocket. _A top secret one_.”

  
  


“A top secret one?” Eve follows up, raising an eyebrow.

  
  


“Ssh.” Villanelle repeats again, closing her eyes. “I just... rest, a minute...”

  
  


And Eve is already wheeling her out of the toilets, the wheelchair flying down the corridor and creating a cool breeze that tickles Villanelle’s face, just about keeping her awake enough to hear Eve say:

  
  


“I’ve always liked Queensland.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A littttttle bit shorter than originally intended but I wanted to get it posted for you guys.
> 
> Definitely feels like time to get these girls the hell out of England, they've been through ENOUGH.
> 
> Hope scenes all came off okay, I had fun and feels writing them.
> 
> Thank you all again for the amazing comments they mean so, so much!


	30. Not a Chapter - Sorry!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am gutted this is my chapter 30.

Hi all,

Just wanted to let you all know there’s going to be a delay on the next part. I’ve been sick since Sunday and basically in bed - in my head this would be heaven writing wise but I haven’t been up to it sadly ☹️.

I’ve managed to get covid test but no result yet, because there’s a huge backlog here. But I can’t complain because I was lucky to even get one from what I’ve heard.

So yes, I’m afraid our little Australia trip is postponed! I was thrilled at how many of you commented you live there, and also a bit like omg I hope I do it justice LOL.

But we have a nice long flight before we get there... can’t imagine what they’ll do for alllllll that time... 

Take care, sorry for the delay, but hopefully this will soon be replaced with Chapter 30 x

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think or what I could improve on! Comments and kudos help to keep me going, and I feel I have a long road ahead with this one :)


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